


press promises between us like flowers in a book

by if_i_be_waspish



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, Finally, Long ass fic, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Mattex, OCs - Freeform, RPF, There is a plot maybe if you squint, four years, maybe you'll hate them, maybe you'll love them, no seriously this is really long, now with epilogue, okay seriously now it is over, this story is over now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 124,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/if_i_be_waspish/pseuds/if_i_be_waspish
Summary: Despite these small changes, he still looks the same to her, and the familiarity of the planes of his face sends a flutter to her stomach and her heart clenches in her chest.Matt, after all these years.-Matt raises his hand and waves at her, giving her a small smile – hello. She returns the gesture, and he feels the wound-up tension slip from his body.Alex, after all these years.-Four years and a one night stand between them, Matt and Alex see each other again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the girls on the mattex server. This story quite literally wouldn't have happened without you. 
> 
> This is a long ride, and I hope some of you will take it with me.
> 
> This takes place present day, but is a bit AU, since in this story Alex never got married.

Alex Kingston is _late_. Of all the ways she imagined today going, being half an hour late to her first table read for this show certainly wasn’t one of them. But here she is now, sitting on the Big Blue Bus as it ambles _very_ slowly but surely to Downtown Santa Monica. She’d been spoiled in London, she now realized, because she’d very much forgotten just how much LA _isn’t_ a public transport city. It takes forever to get anywhere by car, it takes at least twice as much time by bus, and _walkable_ isn’t even a word in the vocabulary of Los Angelenos. She glances at her watch, nearly _three times_ as much time by bus, as it turns out. She sighs, pushing an errant curl that had escaped from the haphazard ponytail she’d tossed her hair into this morning out of her face.

The Pacific Ocean glistens in the distance as the pier finally comes into view, and she would be pleased by the sight of the morning Santa Monica sun glaring off the slightly rough waters if the day hadn’t gone to hell already at 10am. As the bus lurches to her stop three blocks down from the small studio that is her current destination, Alex gathers up her large boho bag, gives the driver a small smile and thanks, and steps into the Santa Monica air. It smells like salt and sun, and she inhales deeply, letting the calming scent wash over her and she feels her nerves and panic recede just a bit, just enough.

Walking the three blocks to the studio, she tries very hard to avoid every reflective shop window she passes. As she walks, she feels the frustration set in deeper with every step she takes, every glimpse of her reflection she inadvertently catches: this is not how _any_ of this was supposed to go. It was her own fault, she supposed, as most things tend to be. She’d taken the latest flight in from Heathrow as possible, arriving at LAX last night at 10pm – after delays through customs and baggage claim and the car rental place she’d selected losing her reservation altogether, she’d ended up hailing a cab to her hotel just before midnight. After an accident on the 405 that the cab driver’s Waze app couldn’t get her around, by the time she was checked in to her room at a boutique hotel near UCLA it was closing in on 2am. She knows she really should have booked her hotel in Santa Monica, where the studio is, but she’d always liked Westwood, and thought a couple nights there before the show moved them to their permanent housing for filming would be nice. Turns out she was wrong.

After she’d checked bus schedules on her phone to find her stop and route, she’d taken a scalding hot shower to wash the plane off of her, and then she’d crawled into the unfamiliar bed and tried to stop her mind from thinking about what was happening tomorrow, tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach, but it was no use; thoughts of _tomorrow_ danced incessantly in her mind, and the sheep she counted just laughed. The last time she looked at the clock before she finally fell asleep, it taunted her with its glaring red letters: _3:06am._

When her alarm went off at 6am, she apparently slept right through it, snoozing soundly until she flew out of bed in a blind panic at 8:16am. After a string of curses that could make a sailor blush, she’d jumped out of bed, brushed her teeth, piled her hair on her head, and thrown her wrinkled clothes on, somehow managing to make it to the bus stop by 8:45am, just in time to catch the bus that wouldn’t make her painfully, dreadfully late. It was a record, she was sure, but at what cost? A quick glance in the mirror would tell her, and she quite frankly didn’t want to see.

She’d had _plans_. She was going to get up, do her hair _nicely_ , press her clothes, grab a coffee or a tea and read the paper on the bus. She was going to arrive early to the studio to introduce herself around and to select a seat. She wasn’t sure whether arriving first or last would be preferable given the circumstances, but she was going to opt for early – preparedness had never served her ill in the past, after all. The vague panic she felt now had certainly never been part of her plan. Her true plan was relatively simple, though, if she thought about it: she was going to look _flawless_ this morning.

Instead, Alex is walking down a near-empty street in Santa Monica near the Promenade looking just as harried and out of sorts as she feels. This city used to be her _home_ – well, Los Angeles at large, anyway; but she’d rented out her house and sold her car, and she’d anticipated much about her return to this city, but she hadn’t counted on the city apparently being so angry with her about her departure.

As she nears the little studio on the seaside of Third Street, she trips over a bit of uneven sidewalk, barely catching herself as she stumbles forward and out of her Birkenstock sandals. “ _Message received_ ,” She grumbles as she jams her foot back into her sandal, pulls the door of the studio open and steps inside.

She checks in with the young receptionist at the front desk who quietly confesses that she’s a bit of a fan of Alex’s and who also tells her not to worry too much because the showrunner/writer/director actually just arrived as well, living on LA time. Alex smiles in gratitude as she receives her name badge, and then follows the receptionist down a long corridor to an open door. The receptionist smiles, gives a silly little thumbs up, and then heads back out to the lobby.

Alex pauses outside the open door, then takes a steadying breath, smoothing a hand down over her peasant skirt and blouse, though she knows its futile. She can’t possibly look _anything_ but frumpy right now, a disheveled mess, and she vaguely wonders what she ever did to the universe to make it so. With a heavy sigh and no more patience for delaying what is inevitable, she steps into the room. Her eyes find the director at the head of the table, but she can feel everyone’s eyes on her as the hushed voices stop, and it’s a bit unsettling.

“Sorry I’m late,” She whispers sotto voice, wincing a little at how loud her voice still feels in the now quiet room.

The director smiles at her warmly, “It’s no worries, Alex,” He stands to greet her, shaking her hand and leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek, “We’re happy to have you. Please,” He indicates a seat in the middle of the table.

“Thank you,” She says, quietly making her way over to the center of the table and deliberately not glancing around the table at her fellow actors. She rolls the seat out, sets her bag down next to it, and sits gingerly in the rather plush executive chair. She reaches into her bag, pulls out her glasses, her script, and a pen, and sets them on the table in front of her. She’s still avoiding everyone’s glances, though she can still feel them on her, instead focusing on adjusting her items into a neat little line.

“Welcome to the first table read of season two!” The director announces, all enthusiasm, and everyone’s eyes snap from her to the director, “We’re very excited to add some series regulars this season – and to welcome most everyone back from season one. Please flip to page one of the season opener!” He grins, and then takes his seat at the head of the table.

Alex grabs her glasses and perches them on her nose, brushing one of her wayward curls out of the way. As she flips her script open and picks up her pen, she can _feel_ someone looking at her intently, and she doesn’t have to look—she knows who it is. It’s why she avoided looking at the other actors as she sat down; it’s why she came up with her whole bloody _plan_ in the first place. Deciding she can’t avoid it forever, she brings her gaze up to where she feels the heat of the stare and directly across from her— _of course_ directly across from her, despite how big the table is—she sees the hazel eyes she hasn’t seen in person for nearly four years now.

 _Matt Smith_.

His eyes are exactly as she remembers them – deep, expressive, beautiful. They’re looking at her now with a mixture of happiness, trepidation, a bit of melancholy, and something else she doesn’t want to think too hard about.

He raises his hand and gives her a little wave and a smile, and she returns both gestures, her eyes sweeping over his expressive face. His hair is a bit shorter than when she saw him last, a few lines have etched themselves into his face making him look a bit older, and a few streaks of grey have crept into his brown hair weaving themselves in amongst the strands, evidence of the time gone by.

Despite these small changes, he still looks the same to her, and the familiarity of the planes of his face sends a flutter to her stomach and her heart clenches in her chest.

 _Matt_ , after all these years.

x

The minute he sees her walk in, it’s like it hasn’t been four years since the last time he laid eyes on her in person. He’d gotten to the table read early to grab a seat that gave him a perfect view of the door—four years since he’d seen her, and he didn’t want to miss a single second of it. From the moment he sits down, he checks his phone nervously, looking at the time, watching as the minutes tick by as anticipation and nerves work their way through his body. A few minutes after 10am, the director and showrunner, Daniel, comes in and sits, shuffling papers amidst everyone’s hushed murmurs, the first conversations back since the hiatus.

Matt glances at his phone again. She’s late, and Alex is very rarely late. He feels a bit of panic rush through him—what if she’d backed out? What if the role is someone else’s now? Surely, production would have told him since he’s one of the two leads, right? Surely, _she_ would have told him. They don’t talk much anymore, but they had exchanged texts about her recurring role on his new series, and so she would have at least told him if she’d had to back out, wouldn’t she have? They’re not close anymore, but she would have told him she wasn’t going to take the role after all—he feels confident in at least that much. Which means that something may have happened to her.

His mind is running away from him and he’s just considering picking up his phone to call or text her when he sees her walk through the door. She’s wearing an outfit that nearly swallows her whole, a black flowy skirt and a white flowy top paired with Birkenstock sandals. Her hair is piled on top of her head haphazardly and a few curls fall here and there framing her face, which doesn’t have a stitch of makeup on it. She looks tired, he realizes, and a bit out of sorts, but she also looks _beautiful_. Somehow, though he'd long since memorized every inch of her face, she looks more beautiful in this moment than he even remembered.

Matt’s always thought that there’s something about Alex that just _transcends_ ; she’s radiant in a way very few people are – you see her, and her warmth just radiates, even if she doesn’t know you. It doesn’t matter how exhausted she is, how sad she is, how angry she is, it’s always _there_ thrumming under the surface of her personality, like an old friend you’d not seen in a while, but time and distance didn’t matter. And he has missed it, her warmth. He has missed _her_ , even after four years, and he didn’t realize quite how much until he watched her walk into this tiny room in Santa Monica, thousands of miles and thousands of days away from the place she first captivated him.

Matt watches as Alex makes her way to the only empty seat at the table, and he’s pleased that it just so happens to be the one directly across from him. He doesn’t miss how her eyes do not wander around the table, and he’s not daft – well, not about _this,_ anyway – he knows she’s avoiding him. He’d considered the same thing himself, but even the thought of it pained him; it has been so long, and whatever else did or didn’t happen between them, she is his friend. He watches with a smile as she settles into her seat, pulls her script from her ridiculously large bag, and slips her reading glasses on her nose.

He's staring – Matt _knows_ he’s staring, and he would really stop if he could, but he can’t. He hasn’t seen her in so long that he sometimes wonders if he imagined the little flip-flop his stomach did whenever he saw her; but now he knows he didn’t imagine it, it’s very real, and it’s apparently very much still happening. He can’t take his eyes off of her, and it seems she can tell. She can _feel_ him looking at her, and he watches as she stills a bit and then lifts her head to look at him, her eyes finally locking on his.

And his heart leaps in his chest, and then constricts because her eyes are still the same, still full of warmth and love and affection— _all good things_ —even as they look at him now, so far from the person he was back then.

Matt raises his hand and waves at her, giving her a small smile – _hello_. She returns the gesture, and he feels the wound-up tension slip from his body.

 _Alex_ , after all these years.

The director calls the table read to order, and Matt listens, reading where he needs to and watching Alex intently where he doesn’t. Aside from a brief interlude where she pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot in the middle of the table, she keeps her eyes trained on her script, following along. He can tell she feels his eyes on her—he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, he really doesn’t, but he can’t look away. It’s been so long without her, and he wants to etch her face into his memory so he never forgets quite how beautiful she is ever again. So, he just drinks her in until it’s time to read his lines.

When it’s time for hers, he sees everyone at the table turn to look at her – her voice falls from her lips like molasses, her tone low and smoky as it always is, particularly in quieter moments. She is brilliant, even at a table read, and Matt finds himself watching her with rapt attention.

When it’s time for she and Matt to read together, Matt lowers his voice – he’s gone over and over this part of the script, so he’s off-book already. Alex stutters just a bit, probably because she hadn’t been expecting him to be _watching her_ , but she makes it through her line, and he feels melancholy wash over him as he thinks it’s a bit sad and a bit fitting that the first time they’ve spoken to each other in four years is as other people.

When there’s a pause in their dialogue, Alex glances up and finds him staring at her. He watches as a blush creeps up her cheeks, and Matt turns his head in curiosity as she drops her gaze back down – _that’s_ new. Just as he thinks it, Alex reaches for the apparently near-empty Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of her and manages to knock it over, sending the liquid sloshing over the table. She utters a curse, and Matt flies up, springing into action and grabbing a box of tissues from the center of the table; he dabs at the liquid, soaking the tissues and tossing them in the bin behind him when it’s finally clean.

“Sorry,” Alex murmurs in apology to the room, though after a momentary lapse they’ve kept reading; she’s clearly embarrassed, but she says it with a bit of a smile, never one to _not_ laugh at herself. She shoots Matt a grateful smile before she settles back into her chair and dips the edge of a napkin into a cup of water. Matt watches her as she dabs at her shirt with the tissue, trying to get the stain out from the bit of coffee that had dribbled off the edge of the table and on to her shirt. Eventually, she realizes it’s futile and she gives it up, crumpling the napkin and setting it in a ball next to her script right before her next cue line.

Matt watches as she slips back into the character, stained shirt momentarily forgotten. She’s reading a scene with her estranged husband on the show, and as Matt listens to the words, he can’t help but think just how close to he and Alex’s situation the scene she’s reading with another actor now hits: he wants to be all in, and she – _doesn’t_. As Matt listens to the actor playing her husband beg her to _please just stay_ , Matt is suddenly not in a tiny room in Santa Monica – he’s back in his flat in London, a little over four years ago.

_“Alex, you don’t have to go.” He reached for her, but she was already up and sliding her emerald green dress back over her body._

_“I do, Matt. I really, really do.” She said, fiddling with the zipper on the side and not meeting his gaze._

_They’d been at an awards show, Who had been over for both of them for awhile, and all the sexual tension that had been brewing for years finally boiled over until they tumbled into Matt’s bed and explored each other’s bodies in the exact ways they’d always wanted to._

_They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, sleeping contentedly until the morning sun came washing through the windows and brought with it, for Alex alone, the shame and fear._

_Matt stood up and threw his joggers on, crossing the distance between them. Alex was balanced with one hand on his windowsill trying to put her left heel on, struggling a bit. Stopping in front of her, Matt eased the shoe from her hand and let it fall to the floor. Alex set her foot down and looked at her heel where it landed on the floor, still refusing to meet his gaze._

_“You really, really don’t,” Matt brought his hands up to gently cup her face on either side. He dropped his head down to catch her eyes, “Alex.” He whispered, and her eyes fluttered closed for the briefest of moments._

_“Matt,” She whispered back, her head nuzzling a bit into his right hand until she remembered herself. Her eyes flew open and he saw the fear in them, raw and dangerous, “Please. I have to go – we shouldn’t have… this was…” She couldn’t look at him again._

_“Everything we’ve been wanting for years now?” He supplied, his tone still gentle, “And still somehow better than every bloody fantasy I’d ever let myself have about you?”_

_Her eyes widened at that as she wrenched her face from his hands; she sat down on the chair behind her, her shoulders slumped, “It was a lovely night, Matt,” She said, dropping her head in her hands, “Truly,” She brought her eyes up to meet his and he could see unshed tears glistening, illuminated by the morning light spilling through his curtains, “But… we can’t…” At his look, she shook her head, “_ I _can’t.” She amended. “I can’t go through this again, Matt, and I’m sorry.”_

 _He looked at her – he could_ see _her slipping away, he could see her fortifying the wall she let down for him for just one night, and he felt a sense of panic invade his body, “What_ this _, Alex?”_

_She looked at him a bit pointedly, “I’ve been here before, Matt.”_

_“Not with me you haven’t.”_

_She gave him a small sad smile as she shook her head, “No But it always ends the same.”_

_Matt ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly on the ends in exasperation, “Alex, you’re wrong. I know you’ve been hurt before – hell, so have I. But I don’t want this to just be_ it _for us. You walking out that door like nothing ever happened – or worse, like it did, and that’s it.” At the look in her eye, he sighed, “God, I want so much more than_ this _, can’t you see that? I want_ you. _Alex, I lo—”_

_She threw her fingers against his lips, effectively stopping his words, “Don’t, Matt.” She pleaded, “Don’t say that, please. It isn’t true now, and even if it is, it won’t be the moment the new wears off.”_

_Matt felt the anger rise in him—not at her, but at every person who had ever made her feel like that, like loving her was something that could ever just fade away into nothingness, like it could ever disappear— “Okay. I won’t say it because you don’t want to hear it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And, please don’t tell me how I feel now or how I will feel down the line.” Matt scrubbed his hand down his face, watching her quietly._

_After a moment of silence stretched between them, Alex sighed and reached for her heels, slipping them on her feet before she stood and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Matt.”_

_Matt stared at her as she pulled away from him, “Are you serious, Alex? That’s it? Thank you for a lovely evening? I’m standing here asking you to stay, asking you for_ more _, telling you I… and… thank you for a lovely evening?”_

_Alex made her way to the door, grabbing her bag from his couch on the way, “I’m sorry, Matt.” She spoke quietly, but her voice carried across the flat where Matt leaned in the doorway of his bedroom just fine._

_He shook his head, his arms folded over his chest, “Me too.” He couldn’t keep the sadness and anger out of his voice, so he didn’t even try._

_She opened the door, crossing the threshold and turning to look back at him, wincing at his tone, “It’s for the best, darling.” She sighed, “You’ll see.”_

_The sound of the door of his flat closing echoed in his mind for weeks, months after she left._

And then he didn’t see her for four years; they’d occasionally exchanged text messages, each more impersonal than the last: _happy birthday, congratulations on that part, I’ve heard really good things about your play._

But they didn’t see each other, despite being in the same city, the same town, more often than not—they avoided each other.

Until this morning, when she walked into his life again every bit the same breath of fresh air she was when she first walked into his life all those years ago. And how he’d missed breathing so clearly.

As the table read ends and a quick break is called before a brief full cast meeting, Matt watches Alex give him another small smile as she stands from her chair and walks out the door, cell phone in hand; after a moment, he stands to follow her and as he steps out into the bright sun of the Santa Monica afternoon, he can’t help but think how utterly _wrong_ she had been.

Four years on, and he still couldn’t see how any of it had been _for the best_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an awkward lunch ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased that people are interested in reading this story. Thank you everyone for your feedback, it's very much appreciated.

Matt doesn’t see where Alex has gone, but he knows her, knows how the sea has always calmed her. So he follows the little path down to the ocean and sees her, leaning over a railing, watching the waves roll in and out of the shore as seagulls cry over the beach. His shoes scrape the sand as he approaches slowly behind her – he watches her shoulders stiffen a bit at the sound, as though she is bracing herself for his arrival, as though she is bracing herself for impact.

“Hello, Alex.” He greets quietly, with just enough volume to be heard over the sound of the waves crashing in on the beach just across the street. He steps up to the railing next to her, leaning his back against it as he turns his head and smiles at her.

She turns her head to the left, her arms draped casually over the railing, and smiles back at him, “Hello, Matt.”

Her voice is filled with warmth, and he watches as the sunlight illuminates her face; she radiates, and it nearly overwhelms him after being so long without it.

He smiles at her, “You look lovely.”

She snorts, shaking her head, “Liar.”

Matt stares at Alex, his gaze and voice suddenly serious, “I’m _not_.” His meaning is clear as his words sail through the air: _I am not now, and I was not then._

Alex clears her throat, then looks down at her phone, “Thank you,” She murmurs quietly, then rolls her eyes at her phone, a quick flash of frustration passing over her face. “This bloody thing.” She mutters under her breath.

Matt chuckles, the tension between them loosening a bit at the sound, “What’re you trying to do, Kingston?” The nickname slips from his lips, and he does not miss the way her hands freeze and her eyes dart up, not quite to his eyes, before they settle back on her phone again.

“You’re going to laugh at me.” She sighs.

He grins at her, propping his foot up on the bottom railing, “I won’t.”

“After the morning I had…” She cuts him a quick look, reading him, “Don’t ask.” She aggressively punches in some text on her phone, “I’m trying to download Uber.”

Matt can’t help himself. A laugh bubbles up and he can’t suppress it before it floats in the air between them. She narrows her eyes at him, glaring, and he holds his hands up in surrender and apology.

“Sorry.” He says, quickly, “Still not big on the technology, then?” At her affirmative nod, he smiles. “Here, let me?” He asks it as a question, reaching his hand out halfway between them.

Alex eyes him a bit suspiciously for a moment, as though trying to suss out whether or not he’s done laughing at her. He raises his brows at her and she rolls her eyes and then hands him her mobile, “Fine.”

Matt fiddles with it for a moment, going into the app store, searching for the app, and then pressing the button to download. A pop up appears on screen, and Matt looks up at Alex, “Password?”

He watches with interest as she freezes for just a moment before a blush creeps up her neck and settles on her face, “Um, I’ll just -” She reaches for the phone and takes it from him gingerly, typing her password in the box, her face still a colorful shade of pink.

He leans forward, moving a bit into her personal space, “Something naughty, then?” He waggles his eyebrows at her, “Rabbit247, perhaps?”

Alex rolls her eyes as she hands the phone back to him, but she lets out a laugh, “You know me, darling.” Her eyes widen a bit as the endearment rolls off her tongue, and Matt tries to ignore the way his heart takes up residence in his throat at the sound of that nickname again, finally.

Matt takes her phone back, but he watches her carefully—she’s too flustered for her password to be something naughty. Not many things make Alex Kingston blush, though he’s seen it two times today already, which must be a record as far as he’s concerned. Interest piqued, he finishes the download, then opens the Uber app and sets up an account for her, one for which the password _is_ actually ‘Rabbit247,’ then hands it back to her with a grin.

“There you are.” He leans over the phone as Alex looks at it, tapping around in the app. He gently explains her username and password, and walks her through how to use the app, linking her card. She accidentally calls an Uber and panics for a moment before he shows her how to cancel it. “So, Uber?” He lets go of her phone and looks at her expectantly.

“Thank you, Matt,” She slips her phone back into her bag, sighing at his questioning look, “The rental car place lost my reservation and I woke up late,” she waves a hand over herself, “Obviously. And then I had to take the bus. From _Westwood_. At 9am on a _Wednesday_.” She explains, pointedly ignoring the amusement he knows is shining from his eyes.

“Well,” Matt says, drawing out the word as he drops his foot from the bottom railing and spins around to face the ocean the way she still is, “I can give you a ride back to your hotel after lunch.”

Her eyes widen, “Lunch?”

“Daniel wants to take the four of us – you, me, Jack, and Deni,” His voice drops on the last name without his permission so that he mumbles it a bit, “Out to lunch.”

Alex spins herself around on the railing so that her back is now pressed against it, “Seriously?” Matt nods, and she groans, dropping her head into her hands. She looks at the stain on her shirt, “Great. That’s just…. Great.”

Matt spins himself around as well, then chuckles, eyeing the stain on her shirt that seems to have grown a bit since it first happened, “Bit of a role reversal for us today, hey?”

She smiles despite herself, and he knows she’s thinking of every time he spilled something—usually all over her or Karen or Arthur on set, and if not on them, on his costume or an important prop—she presses her eyes shut, but there is humor in her voice when she speaks, “Don’t remind me.” She shakes her head, leaning her head back so it’s tilted up toward the sun.

Matt’s eyes trace the column of her throat, and images flash in his mind unbidden: _Alex in his bed, her head thrown back, back arched, his mouth licking and sucking at her neck as she whimpered his name over and over again_ _until she came around him, his name falling from her lips in the sexiest way he’d ever heard._

Drawn to her, he feels himself leaning forward, ready to find out if her pulse point still tastes the same, when a voice from behind him stops him cold.

“Matty?”

Matt tenses a bit, and then cringes, unsure if it has more to do with being caught staring at Alex’s throat like he had been, or for the awkward moment he knows is coming. He looks at Alex’s face, and her eyes are still shut.

“Deni, hi!” He tries to inject false cheer into his voice, turning his gaze from Alex to the woman standing at the edge of the street watching them; her eyes alight with curiosity and something a bit more sinister than that, Matt notices despite the distance.

“This day just keeps getting better,” Alex mumbles, and Matt’s head snaps back to look at her just in time to see the smile she pastes on before she opens her eyes and levels her gaze in front of her.

x

Alex hears the tenor of the voice calling out the pet name and she _knows_ exactly who it is without looking. A litany of curse words string through Alex’s head and she bites them back, clenching her jaw shut to keep them from spilling into the air. This day, she decides, just cannot get any worse. And yet she somehow knows that it will. She grumbles a bit before she fixes a taut smile on her face, tips her head back down, and opens her eyes.

To see _Deni Christmas_. She’s wearing a fitted red sundress with little flowers on it, and her long blonde hair is swept to one side looking positively tousled, like she just stepped out of the surf or a print ad for some brand only really, really thin and good-looking people are supposed to wear. Deni is impossibly thin, impossibly young, impossibly perky in every meaning of the word. British by birth, but currently America’s _darling_ of the small screen, Deni Christmas is everywhere these days in two countries, probably more. She’s the lead in this show, playing opposite Matt as his girlfriend, and if the rumors are to be believed—and judging by Matt’s suddenly tense frame next to her, they certainly are—they’ve taken it from the screen to real life.

Deni crosses the little street to where they’re standing, and Alex pushes herself off the railing, pasting a bright smile on her face that she hopes is convincing enough, at least to someone who hasn’t met her before. When Deni reaches them, she slides a small and perfectly manicured hand around Matt’s waist and slips her sunglasses from her eyes to the top of her head; she peers at Matt expectantly, eyebrows raised and sparkling blue eyes full of questions Alex doesn’t want to see. Matt shuffles uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, stiff in Deni’s half-embrace as he keeps his arms on the railing, not moving to put his arm around her.

Taking Deni’s silent cue, Matt looks in between Alex and Deni, “Deni, this is my friend Alex,” He rubs the back of his neck, “Alex, this is Deni.”

Deni cocks her head at him, but extends her hand nonetheless, “Right!” She says, brightly, though Alex can hear an edge to the word, “My _mum_!” She smiles, “Lovely to meet you.”

Matt winces, and Alex nearly barks out a laugh—she hasn’t been on the receiving end of this much passive aggression in quite a long time. Shaking her head a bit, Alex chuckles.

“Lovely to meet you as well,” Alex shakes Deni’s hand, watching as the girl’s gaze skirts over her form from head to toe, eyes lingering on the coffee stain on her shirt before continuing her silent appraisal, as though trying to ascertain whether or not Alex is a threat. Alex lets out a little sigh, “I’m just going to…” She nods her head in the direction of the production house, giving Matt a genuine smile, “Thanks for the help, dar— _Matt_.” She smiles at Deni tersely, then walks across the street.

Alex can hear the hushed tones behind her as she leaves, and she shakes her head again as she walks inside. She’d read the stories about Matt and Deni, of course, it was hard not to since they were everywhere. But she hadn’t put much stock in them, knowing how the papers liked to talk, and how they usually got it wrong, anyway. She hadn’t outright _asked_ him about it in one of their few text message chats, though, figuring it was likely inaccurate, and whether it was or it wasn’t, it was absolutely none of her business, anyway; it was so very far from her place in his life now. She’d made sure of that.

She thinks back to the last night she saw him, remembers the feel of his skillful hands on her eager body, his warm lips on her hot skin—she has been able to think of little else at night for nearly four years now, because how beautifully they’d fit together that night had been a revelation. She’d spent long enough before that night wondering what sex with Matt would be like, and as it turned out, she’d had it wrong all along. She’d thought that when the dam between them finally broke, the night would be filled with frenetic energy, rough and hard, a frantic coupling of two people who’d spent years dancing around the inevitable, wanting it all the while.

But it wasn’t any of that—it was soft and sweet, _reverent_. It was everything she’d never expected in the best possible way. They’d fallen asleep happy, sated, wrapped in each other’s arms, and as she fell asleep she felt content for the first time in a very long time. When the morning came, Alex found herself looking at Matt, sleeping peacefully on his stomach beside her, one arm thrown across her abdomen as his head nestled on her shoulder. She’d pushed the hair from his eyes and planted a soft kiss to his forehead and then, there in his bed, in his flat, as the sun rose cautiously over the city, _she cried_.

And then she let him go. She ran because she was afraid, and she ran because she _wasn’t_. She wanted a life with him, and she somehow knew that if she asked, he would give it to her—but what kind of life would it be for him? Would it—would _she_ —be enough? When the newness of her wore off, would he want her then, after everything had been stripped away? It was the questions she couldn’t answer—that she didn’t _want_ to answer—that had her slipping her heels on and leaving his flat that morning, uttering the words that had haunted her for four years, sending a chill down her spine just when she thought she’d learned to believe them: _it’s for the best, darling. You’ll see_.

As Alex opens the door to the small studio and makes her way back to the meeting room, she hates herself a little bit for those words. They were a lie she had told herself so many times before Matt, but it always ended up becoming the truth—it had with her first husband, with her second, with every casting that went a different way. So the words became a self-soothing of sorts, a comforting gesture she gave to herself on the days when she thought things wouldn’t be okay. How many times had she told herself that? _It’s for the best_. An unconventional mantra, she couldn’t count the number of times she’d said it and it had been true. Only this time, with Matt, it _hadn’t_ been true—she’d been waiting for four years for it to become true, but it hadn’t, not for a single second in the years that stretched between them, and she can’t stop herself from thinking maybe…

But, it’s too late, now. She’s back in Matt’s life, and he’s back in hers, for however long this recurring role lasts, but she’s playing the _mother_ of his on-screen (and now apparently _off-screen_ ) girlfriend, and damn if that isn’t a perfect summation of exactly what the problem with their relationship was—or, would have been rather, if she’d let it happen.

The cast meeting is short, and Daniel has the four leads for this episode stay back, and much to Alex’s chagrin, he begins explaining how he won’t be able to make it to lunch, actually, but he’s called the restaurant and had the entire thing paid for and they should really just go ahead.

It’s how Alex finds herself walking next to Jack, her estranged husband on this show, down the Promenade as Matt and Deni walk in front of them. Alex slips her sunglasses on as they walk down the semi-crowded street dodging people with various packages and parcels, and behind the dark shades of her glasses she watches Matt. He’s dressed in jeans that are rather tight and a simple fitted black t-shirt that she can’t help but notice stretches deliciously across the rippling muscles of his back. He’s not nearly as gangly as he was when she’d known him, and as he weaves through the crowd of people, she enjoys watching the muscles move under the fabric of his shirt. She’d always liked him gangly, of course, but she thinks she’d _quite_ like him like this, too. Her eyes drift down, enjoying just how tight his jeans are—she smirks: he always _did_ have a good arse.

Alex’s attention moves to Deni, watching the perfect put-upon sway of her slim body as they walk, her high heels clicking loudly against the fake stone of the promenade, and Alex says a silent prayer for the girl’s poor feet. Ankles weren’t _meant_ to bend like that, and neither were toes. Deni’s long blonde hair, tousled and bright, flows more than halfway down her back, and her slender arm stretches out to grasp Matt’s hand as they walk, their fingers interlaced.

They look every bit the perfect couple, and the thought settles a stone low in Alex’s belly. _This_ is why you did it, her subconscious reminds her, and she knows it’s true enough. She had denied herself that which she desperately wanted so Matt could have a different life—but watching Matt now, strolling hand in hand with a woman who is half Alex’s age, _true enough_ happens to be of very little comfort. Alex has never been one for jealousy, and truthfully, she can’t even say that’s truly what she’s feeling now—instead, it feels more like the sharp pang of regret, of nostalgia for something that never was and something that never could have been, not without a real-life time machine, anyway. Because youth begets youth, or something like that, and maybe Alex had spent years reaping what she’d sown.

As the foursome walk to the restaurant, she sees more than a few passersby whipping their cell phones out to record the moment, likely ready to tweet or Instagram or whatever-the-hell. Alex ducks her head, turning to look at a shop window and slowing her step just a little, hoping that it leaves her completely out of the shots. The last thing she needs is to be all over the internet looking as slovenly as she already did whilst ogling Matt from behind.

Smirking a bit at the way Deni preens for the makeshift photographers, Alex picks her pace back up after they pass the onlookers.

As they make their way down the promenade towards the restaurant, Alex pretends not to notice the way Matt walks stiffly, casting surreptitious glances over his shoulder at Alex as she walks next to Jack.

As they walk, Jack talks her ear off – he’s so glad to be working with her, he’s so glad they’re not making them be American for this show, he just _loved_ her in Moll Flanders, and how is she liking being back in LA finally?

His question startles her a bit, since she’d been mostly tuning him out in favor of watching Matt walk—not a bad way to spend her time, honestly, but she’s caught a bit off guard and finds herself scrambling to process what Jack’s just asked. When it finally sinks in, Alex turns her attention to the man walking next to her and smiles at him, “It’s lovely to be back. Though, given my first twenty-four hours, I’m not quite sure LA feels the same about me.”

As they reach the little restaurant halfway down the promenade, Jack laughs at her joke, “Ah, just give it time. There’s an adjustment period, always is.”

Alex nods at him, heading through the door that Matt is holding open for them—as she passes through and slides her sunglasses off, she catches his gaze as he watches her, his eyes dark, searching, and curious.

Settling into the table finds her seated next to Jack and across from Matt, and Alex picks up her menu, perusing the wine list with a sudden intense interest as she feels the nerves settle themselves even deeper in her stomach. Lunch across from Matt. Lunch across from Matt, who she hasn’t seen since a sensual and sexy one-night stand four years ago when she walked out on him the morning after. Lunch across from Matt and his _girlfriend_. Lunch across from Matt, who can’t stop staring at Alex, and his young, pretty girlfriend who can’t stop staring at Matt. And Jack.

_Day drinking_. That’s how she’s going to get through this lunch.

When the waitress comes to take their order—and _oh_ she just _loves_ Matt’s work on the new show, and she’s _so happy_ he and Deni are _finally together_ because you can just _tell_ that they’re meant to be, they’re her OTP, whatever the hell that means—Alex orders a lunch salad, so she can make sure her glass of wine works its magic that much quicker. No pesky hearty food to get in the way of the buzz she so desperately needs. She’s never been one to chase her problems away with alcohol, but as she looks at Matt’s hair falling into his eyes, oh, she is more than willing to make an exception this time.

“What type of white wine would you like?” The waitress asks Alex, her voice bright and bubbly, and a little bit shaky with nerves from serving her very own OTP, presumably, “We have—”

Alex smiles, “Literally _anything_.” She politely interrupts the young waitress, cutting off whatever litany of wines she was about to read off and hands her menu back to the waitress and leans back into her chair hoping the wine will be enough to get her through what promises to be the absolute longest lunch of her life.

x

Lunch is uncomfortable, to say the very least. Matt spends the majority of it shifting uncomfortably in his seat, trying to decide which he wants more—to look at Alex, or to _not_ look at Alex. So he spends the meal stealing glances at her, watching her throat swallow the white wine she so adorably ordered at the beginning. Deni and Jack carry most of the conversation, while Matt and Alex spend a lot of time nodding their heads in agreement, even if they probably don’t agree. Sensational conversationalists today, he and Alex.

As lunch rolls on, Matt tries not to notice the way Jack can’t keep his eyes off of Alex, tries not to notice the way the man watches her, the way his face softens any time Alex lets out a throaty laugh, the undisguised hunger radiating from the older man in a way that Matt is all too familiar with, having seen it reflected on himself in the mirror for years and years now. It becomes painfully obvious to Matt, over the course of lunch, that Jack is attracted to Alex. And really, who can blame him?

Jack, if you look at him, isn’t a bad looking man—some women, Matt supposes, might find him handsome. If they were in to the whole rugged I-can-build-shelter-with-my-own-two-hands look. He’s tall and thin but well-built, he has jet black hair with gray flecks here and there and piercing blue eyes and an apparently permanent 5 o’clock shadow that Matt couldn’t even begin to grow if he tried.

The bloke isn’t _bad looking_ is what Matt is trying to say, but he’s also _not_ Alex’s type. Alex’s type, Matt thinks, is a bit less rugged. Okay, a _lot_ less rugged and just a touch shorter. Alex likes dark eyes, hazel preferably, none of that piercing blue nonsense for her. And Alex likes dark hair, but not _that_ dark, she prefers more of a chestnut brown type of dark. Right, so, _not_ Jack, basically. Who needs someone to build a shelter with their bare hands, anyway? That’s just silly. This is the twenty-first century.

So, unfortunately for Jack, he’s just not Alex’s type. Alex, though, she’s _everyone’s_ type, and that’s probably why lunch is so uncomfortable—Matt, sitting next to his girlfriend, can’t stop sneaking little glances at Alex to see if she’s at all into it while Jack regales the table with stories from his varied career trajectories.

Jack, for his part, is completely oblivious to the thick tension that hangs like a pall over the table between everyone _but_ Jack. When he’s through eating, Jack settles back in his chair and puts his napkin on his empty plate.

“So,” Jack starts, looking across the table at Matt and Deni, “When did this become a _thing_?” He waves his index finger at them, “When I was here for the season finale, it wasn’t yet, right?”

Matt keeps his eyes trained on Jack, but he can feel Alex staring at him as her fork stabs somewhat aggressively into a piece of lettuce on her plate.

“Um, well…” Matt hedges, bringing his hand up to rub at the back of his neck, knowing his discomfort is evident to everyone at the table except probably Jack.

Deni rolls her eyes and leans her slender body into Matt, “No, see, there was always this _thing_ between us—where we like really wanted each other, but nothing happened because _Matty_ ,” She rolls her eyes a bit and huffs, sounding every bit the part of LA Valley Girl, despite her British accent, “Didn’t think mixing business with _pleasure_ ,” She emphasizes the word, and Matt wants to crawl under the table and slink out the door and very far away from this moment, “Was a good idea. He didn’t date coworkers or something,” She shrugs, “But I convinced him over hiatus— _finally_.” She smiles, but there’s an edge to it, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, “I showed up at his flat with my lab coat from my costume on but _nothing_ underneath, and well,” Deni snakes her hand up his thigh and Matt jerks in surprise, “ _That_ certainly worked.” She leans over and places a kiss on Matt’s jawline, her eyes fluttering closed with the action, “We’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Matt can’t look Alex in the eye, but he takes Deni’s hand, creeping _up, up, up_ and places it up on the table, ignoring how Deni looks at him with curiosity and a touch of venom.

Deni brings Matt’s hand to her lips, “Sometimes you just meet someone and just _know._ Isn’t that how it happened, babe?” She questions, her voice the picture of innocence.

Matt is stunned, and so he just makes a non-committal noise of possible-agreement because _no,_ that is _not_ how it happened and he moves his head in a way that could possibly be construed as assent before tugging at the collar of his t-shirt and blushing as he picks up his glass of water. He takes a large swallow and sets it down on the table, watching as the condensation bleeds into a perfect ring on to the white tablecloth.

Jack laughs, his deep voice booming through the small restaurant as he looks at Deni and Matt, smiling. “Ah, young love.”

Matt watches as Alex’s hand tenses against the stem of her wine glass, her knuckles white with the effort. He finally chances a look at her face, and she’s wearing a smile that would fool most people, but he can see the undercurrent of _something_ underneath it, and it sets him on edge a bit.

Jack’s about to speak when an older couple quietly approaches the table—they compliment Alex on her work, telling her that they’d just watched Moll Flanders on some streaming something-or-other their grandkids had set up for them, and she was just _wonderful_ in it. Alex smiles graciously, murmuring her thanks and shaking their hands. After they’ve gone, Alex picks up her wine and takes a sip, still smiling fondly as she watches the couple leave the restaurant.

Deni extricates her hand from Matt’s and leans her elbow on the edge of the table, perching her chin on her hand and peering intently at Alex. Matt watches Deni’s expression as her eyes narrow a bit, and she bares her teeth in a gross approximation of a smile. Matt braces himself, but before he can distract Deni, she strikes.

“Moll Flanders,” Deni says, still looking directly at Alex as she bites her lip thoughtfully, “I think I was about six when that came out.”

Matt opens his mouth to speak, but Alex’s eyes immediately snap to Deni, and something in Alex’s gaze makes him snap his mouth shut; Alex doesn’t miss a beat, “How _interesting_ that you remember that.” She takes a casual sip of her wine, swirling the remaining liquid in the glass around a bit before she smiles, but Matt notices something slightly off as it spreads across her face, and he watches her curiously, “See, I’ve always found that it’s the _men_ who know _exactly_ how old they were when _my_ version of Moll Flanders was released.” Alex’s voice is low and makes her meaning clear.

Jack, who’d just taken a sip of his beer, chokes a bit on the liquid before he sets the bottle back down on the table and lets out a hearty laugh. He smiles, shaking his head as he looks at Alex, “Guilty. 28.”

Alex smirks into her wine glass and casts a glance at Matt over the rim.

Matt feels his skin suffuse with color, and he shifts in his seat, looking at the only person who could be considered a safe option at this moment: Jack. Jack raises his eyebrows at Matt in silent question.

Matt shifts in his seat, clearing his throat as he feels his face grow even hotter, trying desperately not to think of her version of Moll and how many hours he’d spent alone in his room playing those scenes back. Deciding it’s futile, Matt clears his throat again, nodding once, “Right before my 14th birthday.” He feels Deni’s eyes boring into him, can feel the anger radiating from her, but he lifts his eyes to Alex, who is watching him over her wineglass with bemusement as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat again. And he knows she knows _exactly_ what he’d been doing when he watched Moll Flanders at fourteen.

Alex cuts a look at Deni, who is now glaring back; Alex smiles, then downs the rest of her wine. Jack, once again missing the cue, picks up the conversation, and Matt is thankful for his obliviousness. Matt can _feel_ Deni glaring at him, and by the time they’re leaving the restaurant, she doesn’t move to take his hand, walking next to Jack instead, pretending to listen intently as he speaks.

Alex and Matt walk in silence, but Matt is pleased to find it’s not awkward. It feels companionable, even, and he smiles to himself as he slips his sunglasses on.

When they’re halfway back to the studio, waiting for a crosswalk, Alex turns to look at Matt, “No other surprise bonding activities, then?”

Matt can hear both the exasperation and amusement in her voice and he smiles, looking out at the ocean, “Not today. But, I feel I should warn you,” At Alex’s expression of panic, Matt laughs, “Daniel is _very big_ on cast bonding.” Alex groans a bit, and Matt shrugs, “Used to hate it.”

Alex raises her eyebrow, “Used to?”

As the sign turns to ‘walk’ and they step into the crosswalk, Matt leans his head down a bit, “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do than _bond_ with you.” His tone is suggestive, and he feels a little nervous about it—they haven’t seen each other in four years, and they certainly haven’t _flirted_ in four years.

Matt watches as Alex pauses her step just a little, and then laughs, and Matt is pleased to hear that it’s genuine; the full sound washes over him, and he realizes at once how much he had missed that laugh—how much he had missed _making_ her laugh like that. Her head is tipped back even as she walks, and she shakes her head as she drops her head back down. Matt notices Deni glancing at them over her shoulder, but he doesn’t care—it’s been too long without that sound.

“Oh, Matt,” She sighs, shaking her head, “Glad to see you haven’t lost your edge, darling. Thought maybe you’d hit a bit of a wall as far as the flirting is concerned.”

“Never. Have you, Kingston? Hit a wall?” He queries, as they step on to the curb.

Alex grins at him wickedly, “Not hardly. Still rather enjoy being pressed up against one, though.”

At her words, Matt chokes on air, making a strangled sound in the back of his throat as he remembers doing _exactly_ that to Alex on the night they spent together. He feels a blush creep up over his cheeks and suddenly trips on a non-existent crack in the sidewalk, his limbs flailing about as he tries to keep from falling face-first on the pavement. Alex reaches a hand out to steady him, her small hand curling around his bicep; her other hand goes to his waist, steadying him further, and even through his clothing her touch is electric. It feels like it burns him, and he freezes, staring at her, their faces inches apart.

“Careful, darling,” Alex murmurs.

For what feels like the thousandth time today, Matt is staring at Alex, and he can’t help it. The sunlight is bouncing off her curls, and he can see her eyes over the top of her sunglasses, and she’s looking at him with such concern that his heart starts beating rapidly in his chest. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell her everything he’s kept inside for years—to tell her he misses her, to tell her that all he thinks of is _that night_ , is her underneath him, her moving over him—it’s not the time, in the middle of an outdoor mall in Santa Monica, but the words desperately long to feel the air around them after being locked away inside of him for so long.

“Alright?” A deep voice asks.

The voice cuts through, and Matt snaps his mouth shut as he feels Alex remove her hands from his body; Matt turns to look at Jack who is watching them bemusedly next to Deni, who looks the exact _opposite_ of bemused. Pissed. She looks _pissed_.

Matt stands up straight and nods, brushing his t-shirt off as though he had actually fallen and hit the ground. “Fine.” He nods again, shuffling awkwardly next to Alex.

Alex doesn’t meet his eyes, instead pulling her phone out of her pocket and unlocking it. She doesn’t look anywhere _but_ at her phone. “Well!” She says brightly, trying to cut through the tension, “Guess I better see about all this Uber business.”

Matt gapes at her a bit, “Oh no, Alex. I said I’d give you a ride.”

“Dar-” She stops herself, glancing at Deni out of the corner of her eye, “You don’t have to do that; I’ll be fine, _really_.”

“Alex, I’m not letting you take a bloody Uber back to Westwood when I have a perfectly good car and the time to drive you.” He doesn’t look at Deni, he’s not interested in seeing her rage at present.

Deni takes a step towards Matt and Alex, “Babe, Jack can take her.” Deni volunteers, and Matt tenses—there’s a reason she’s volunteering Jack, a reason other than the fact that Deni can see _something_ between Matt and Alex, and Matt wonders just what Deni and Jack had been talking about on the walk back. He has one guess: _Alex_.

Jack chuckles, taking an eager step forward, and it’s all Matt can do not to glare at him. “I’d love to, actually,” He checks his watch, regret flitting across his face, “But I’ve got a meeting in Burbank in an hour, and I’ve got to leave straight away.”

Matt clears his throat, still not looking at Deni—she, after all, has no say in the matter; he looks at Alex, smiling, “It’s settled then.” Matt nods his head in the direction of a car park along the ocean, “I’m this way.”

He makes to leave, his hand out in front of him to guide Alex in the correct direction, but before he can move, Deni walks up to him and wraps a slender arm around his neck, her acrylic nails running through the hair at the nape of his neck. She rises on her tiptoes and kisses Matt thoroughly, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she presses her body up against his. Matt freezes, his hand flailing a bit at his side before it settles on her shoulder—he kisses her back just enough to not attract her ire. Deni hums against his mouth and then pulls away.

“Drive safe, baby.” She runs her finger across his lips, wiping away traces of her red lipstick, then smiles at Alex as she moves to walk away; she looks back at Matt, “Take care of my _mum_.” She pauses, bringing a finger to her chin, tapping as though she’s been deep in thought, “Come to think of it, if rumors are true and our characters get engaged this season, _your mum_ , too.” She walks away, swaying her narrow hips from side to side.

Matt can feel Alex’s incredulous gaze on him and he ducks his head down, wiping his mouth to remove any traces of Deni that may be left, “I’m this way,” He mumbles, indicating the same car park.

It’s a short distance, but it feels like the longest walk of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her voice is soft, tender, “Matt, I didn’t…” She inhales, trying to brace herself, gather her courage, “I didn’t ask you not to tell anyone because…because I was ashamed or… or anything like that, you know. Not like that. Not at all.”
> 
> Matt sets his jaw, but remains silent, his hands on the wheel gripping tightly. Suddenly, he indicates, and turns into an expansive parking lot facing the beach. 
> 
> “What are you doing?” Alex asks, still watching him.
> 
> “Four years.” He says, as though that is explanation enough. He sighs as he maneuvers the car into a parking spot right at the edge of the sand, “Four years I’ve been waiting to have this conversation.” He throws the car into park, then unhooks his seatbelt and turns to face her, “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to have it without looking at you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to everyone who is reading this story.

It’s the second longest walk of Alex’s life. The first was the distance across his flat when she left him that night. Now, the sun is shining on her skin despite the lateness of the year, but Deni’s very obvious display of possessiveness still leaves her feeling just a bit cold. Jealousy has _never_ been Alex’s style, and she’d been denying to herself that’s what she felt all day—but after watching Deni’s tongue slide into Matt’s mouth, she has to admit that the feeling that swept over her felt more than just a little bit green-eyed.

Alex and Matt walk to his car in silence, and they leave the parking structure that way too. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, but it feels charged and heavy with the weight of things unsaid, of chances lost. It isn’t until Matt makes a left onto Highway One that Alex starts to speak.

“Matt, why are you—”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” He grips the steering wheel tightly, but he’s smiling as he looks at the road for oncoming traffic, “backseat drive from my passenger’s seat, Kingston.”

Alex feels her heart flutter at the nickname, like she’s some ridiculous teenaged girl, but she can’t help it—she had missed hearing the way he said her surname, always like it was a secret between the two of them, sometimes like it was a promise.

She laughs, rolling her eyes, “Far be it from me, darling, but PCH takes _much_ longer, you know.”

Matt sighs as though he is completely exasperated with her, “Yes, thank you, I _know_ that – I _have_ been living here for well on a year now, you know.” He stops at a stoplight and turns to look at her, “But I haven’t seen you in nearly _four_ and god knows when we’ll be alone again, so _yes_ , I am going to take the long way, alright?”

Alex bites her lip, hiding a smile—she had _missed_ Matt, so despite any protestations, she is quite happy to have a little extra time with him.

She’d spent years regretting leaving him that night—she regretted what it did to their friendship, and in private moments, she regretted what it did to her heart. She’d left to protect it, believing it was the only chance she had at salvaging her heart from the inevitable ruin, but it turns out that leaving had done more damage than staying ever could have. Alex wouldn’t have known that without seeing him again, but the minute her eyes locked on his in the table read this morning she _knew_. She’d left to keep her heart from breaking, but it shattered the minute she closed his flat door behind her.

She feels the melancholy settle in her bones now, and she turns her head to face out the window to look at the ocean; the sun shining off the water makes a pretty picture, but it’s of no comfort to her now—not when the pretty picture of everything she gave up is sitting next to her driving down the more crowded than she even remembered PCH just to have a little more time with her.

For a while, the only sound in the car is the careful silence of two people who have too much to say to one another. As they pass a state beach, the silence is broken with the sound of vibration; Matt’s cell phone rings incessantly through the next three lights. As they roll to a stop, the vibration ceases, only to start up quickly again. Even on silent, the calls have an angry feel to them, and Alex rolls her eyes as the vibration from the cell echoes in the car, amplified by the cup holder in which Matt has his phone placed.

Exasperated, Alex sighs, “Jesus, Matt… did you _tell her_?”

Glaring at her, he finally picks his noisy phone up, glances at it as he mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and then powers it down. The light he is stopped at turns green and he puts his foot on the gas, taking off from a dead stop with a little bit more intensity than is strictly necessary. Alex watches his face carefully, notices his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

“No, I didn’t bloody well tell her. I didn’t tell _anyone_ , just like you asked— _begged_ —me not to.” He grits his teeth, and his voice is quiet, but the rage lacing his words still cuts through.

Alex stares at him for a moment, stunned.

After their night together, she’d texted him the next day pleading with him not to tell anyone what had happened between them, _please_.

She’d been worried it would get out, that the press would grab ahold of it and that it would irreparably damage his fledgling career. He was young, but she knew how this worked. She hadn’t wanted one night with her to stain the reputation and clout he was just beginning to build for himself.

Alex knew better than anyone how finicky the industry is, how they latch on to a sex scandal and never let you live it down, not ever. Alex isn’t a seductress in the classic sense, she isn’t someone with star power or conventional beauty and sex appeal in spades— _Demi Moore_ , the press and public could understand, they’d let Ashton Kutcher off the hook for a catch like that—but Alex Kingston, she knew, would be a _much_ harder sell.

So she did—she _did_ beg him to keep quiet, loath to find out what the press would do to his career, let alone to be the one responsible for it. Matt had agreed in a short text message reply, and that had been the very last serious conversation they’d had. And no one had found out.

Alex never _once_ considered that Matt would think it was because she didn’t want people to know about them for _her_ sake.

Alex bites her lip, still watching him out of the corner of her eye—it didn’t really matter now why she did it, or why he _thought_ she did it; nothing that happened between them back then matters now. He has someone else now, he has a career on a decidedly upward trajectory now. But, as she considers keeping her mouth shut and letting him continue to think what he’d spent years thinking, anyway, she realizes that it _does_ matter. Because he is Matt—and whatever did or didn’t happen between them, she never wanted to _hurt_ him, not even in memory.

Her voice is soft, tender, “Matt, I didn’t…” She inhales, trying to brace herself, gather her courage, “I didn’t ask you not to tell anyone because…because I was _ashamed_ or… or anything like that, you know. Not like that. Not at all.”

Matt sets his jaw, but remains silent, his hands on the wheel gripping tightly. Suddenly, he indicates, and turns into an expansive parking lot facing the beach.

“What are you doing?” Alex asks, still watching him.

“Four years.” He says, as though that is explanation enough. He sighs as he maneuvers the car into a parking spot right at the edge of the sand, “Four years I’ve been waiting to have this conversation.” He throws the car into park, then unhooks his seatbelt and turns to face her, “And I’ll be _damned_ if I’m going to have it without looking at you.”

Alex swallows against the nerves crawling up her throat and turns her head to stare out at the expanse of the ocean in front of them; the waves are rolling in a bit rougher than usual, the sand thrown about by the force of the water bearing down, down, down. And still the sand does not move, does not retreat, does not run—if given enough time, it becomes _stone_. Alex had always wanted to be like that—she’d always wanted to be strong, immovable, _brave_. In some ways, she knows she is all of those things, but the ways in which she isn’t leave her alone at night, clutching a pillow instead of someone else’s body, surrounded by empty sheets instead of someone else’s scent. In her life she’d let too many people mold her, let too many people break her, and it was always the wrong people—until she’d been conditioned, until finally she did the breaking all by herself.

Alex can feel the tears in her eyes now as she stares at the ocean, and she doesn’t trust herself to look at Matt without them spilling down her face, even though she can feel his eyes on her, willing her to look at him, to finally have this conversation.

“I wasn’t ashamed of what happened, Matt, I really wasn’t; at least not for the reasons you’re thinking.” She confesses again quietly, and she almost doesn’t recognize her own voice, “That’s not why I asked you to keep it a secret, what… happened between us.”

“Then _why,_ Alex?”

She can hear the raw hurt in his voice at his question, and she does look at him now—his face is stoic, but she can see the pain etched under the surface and she hates that she’s the one who put it there.

“I was trying to protect you, darling.” She wants to find better words, but there isn’t the time—and, anyway, if she hasn’t found them in four years, she’s not sure they exist.

“Protect me?” Incredulity drips from his tone, “You were trying to _protect me_.” He repeats her words back to her and she closes her eyes against them, “From _what_?”

Alex drops her head to her hands, her fingers smoothing over her forehead in a self-soothing gesture, “Me.” She explains, simply.

Matt lets out a laugh, but it’s mirthless, “ _You_? You’re not as scary as you’d like to think, then, Alex, because the _last_ thing I needed—the last thing I _wanted_ back then was protection from you.”

Alex lifts her head from her hands to look at him, “Don’t be daft, Matt. The press would have had you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and then popped on back to have you for a bit of dessert.” She stares at him now, “Do you know what being linked to me _like that_ would have done to your fledgling career? Have you really any idea?”

Matt scoffs, “ _I’m_ the one being _daft_? Do _you_ know how very much I didn’t care about that, Alex? Any of it? How much I didn’t give a _damn_ about the sodding press and what they might have had to say about _us_?”

Alex lets out a heavy sigh, “Well you _should have done_. And I gave a damn _for you,_ then.” She shakes her head, “I’m playing your current _girlfriend’s mother_ , Matt, and if that doesn’t say everything that needs to be said, then I don’t quite know what does. If we’d…” She clears her throat, “Back then… You certainly wouldn’t be starring in this show, you certainly wouldn’t have the career you have, you wouldn’t have…” Alex trails off—as much as she truly believes that what she did was the right thing for Matt back then, she still can’t bring herself to list _Deni Christmas_ as a point in the pro column.

He shrugs, “Maybe not, but we’ll never know one way or the other now.” Matt says, “But even if you’re right, even if I would have lost _everything_ else…what _else_ might I have had, instead?” He looks at her pointedly, and she can feel her stomach tie itself in knots, can feel the color start to suffuse her cheeks, “What I wanted back then, Alex, would have been worth a thousand shows, a career three thousand times brighter than mine is even right now.” He shakes his head sadly, running a shaky hand through his hair, “Do you remember what you said to me that morning?”

“No.” She lies, and she knows he sees it. She has replayed every word she said to him that morning, a recitation of her guilt, nearly every day since she left.

Alex watches the anger creep onto his face, and he leans back in his seat, staring out the windshield, “Alex,” He shakes his head once and throws the door of the car open, stepping onto the pavement of the car park and slamming the door behind him.

The loud sound startles Alex, and she jumps in her seat. She watches Matt make his way around the hood of his car. He leans against it for a moment, just staring out at the ocean. Then, he props himself on the hood, settling into a seated position, still staring at the sea. Slowly, Alex unclicks her seatbelt, opens her door, and shuts it gently behind her. She makes her way to the hood of his car, kicks off her Birkenstocks, and joins him, settling on the metal just a few inches away from him.

Matt doesn’t look at her, watching the waves instead. Alex leans towards him, “This is bad for your car, you know.” She’s joking, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Please,” He breathes out, “Let _me_ worry about what’s bad for me and my things for once.” He looks at her then, and the sadness in his eyes nearly overwhelms her, “Please.”

Alex remains silent, every word feels inadequate to defend herself against what he’s just accused her of; not to mention, he’s right. So, she just nods and watches the ocean as it comes and goes, wishing it would calm her the way it did when she was younger, when she first moved to LA to escape the painful life she’d somehow found herself in.

She’s lost in her own morose thoughts when Matt speaks again.

“You told me that night, Alex, you said—it’s _for the best_.” His words are clipped, his tone harsher than she’s ever heard it when he’s speaking to her; he shakes his head again and lets out a sigh of frustration, “You don’t want me, _fine_.” He turns to look at her, and she can’t miss the fire in his eyes, pain coursing under the blaze, “But please don’t sit there and act like you did me some kind of _favor_ , Alex.” He fixes his gaze on the shoreline again, his voice hushed, the anger gone and replaced with quiet sadness, “I couldn’t even look at another woman for nearly a _year_.”

Alex inhales sharply at his confession, and she shakes her head—she hadn’t looked at another man in nearly four. She feels the words bubble up, and she is overcome with the urge to tell him that—to tell him _everything_. That it wasn’t because she didn’t want him then, that she still wants him now, that she _did_ do him a favor, even if he can’t see it that way just yet, even if he never can. She wants to tell him she almost went back to his flat that night to take it all back, that she almost called him a hundred times in the weeks that followed, that she’s almost called him a thousand times in the years since. But she swallows the words back down, feels them crawl back into her heart where only she can hear them.

She’s told him enough truths today, and she can’t see how any more won’t just hurt her—how they won’t just hurt _him_.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, and it’s so quiet it’s almost swallowed by the sound of the waves. She doesn’t tell him for what—she doesn’t tell him it’s for all the lies she’s told, all the truths she still cannot tell. She finally looks at him and his eyes are pressed shut, the sun playing on his features. He looks so much older, but still so much the same—still her Matt, even if she doesn’t know him quite like she used to.

Alex watches him smile, but it’s sad, “Me too, Alex.” He opens his eyes and stares at the place where the sky meets the ocean, “Me too.” He sighs, then turns his head to look at her, “Friends?”

Alex smiles at him, “That’s all I ever wanted, darling.” _That_ lie is out of her mouth before she has time to even think about it, and she wonders how many she’s going to have to tell before the day is over. That was _never_ all she wanted from Matt Smith—not before their night together, and certainly not after.

She notices his face fall at her words, and she winces a bit.

He smiles, “Right. Well.” He clears his throat, “How is it being back, then?”

Grateful for the change in subject, Alex smiles, “Too early to tell.” She chuckles, “I’ll let you know in a few days, when LA has ceased being cross with me for my departure.”

Matt smiles, hopping off the hood of his car, “It’ll come around, give it time. But it can’t be _that_ surprising,” He holds his hand out to help her down from the hood, “You’re a hard woman to watch leave.” He murmurs, running his thumb over the back of her hand before he lets it go and heads to the driver’s side.

Alex slips her shoes back on her feet then crosses to the passenger’s side and opens the door, “Funny,” She smiles self-deprecatingly, “I’ve always been under the impression that It’s rather easy to watch me go.”

Matt grins at her, but there’s a terseness underneath, “Hardly.” His eyes dart to the right glancing down the beach then back again, “Just ask the _city_.”

x

Matt slides into the driver’s side, _Just ask me_ , he thinks as he clips his seatbelt and watches Alex do the same across from him. He tries not to breathe in, but it’s too late—she smells like salt and sea and a bit like vanilla. She smells like everything he lost, and he shakes his head trying to dislodge the memory of her scent surrounding him that night so long ago.

He grabs his phone out of the cup-holder and powers it on; he doesn’t exactly know how to get to Westwood by heart, and certainly not by taking the Pacific Coast Highway. The minute his phone is on, the vibration starts up again – text messages and voicemail alerts coming through—they’re not all from Deni, but quite a few are. He glances at Alex and sees her looking at his phone out of the corner of her eye. Matt curses as he opens his phone, punches Alex’s hotel into his GPS, and locks it again.

“We’d better get you home, darling.” She bites her lip to hide a smile as the automated GPS voice begins speaking, doling out directions in a too pleasant for driving in Los Angeles voice.

Matt reverses the car and straightens it out before her turns to look at Alex, “Jesus, Alex. We’re not _living_ together.” He clarifies, throwing the car in drive.

“No?” Alex smiles, “You could have fooled me back at the Promenade.”

“Yeah…” Matt feels the discomfort ripple through his body—this is _not_ what he wants to be discussing with Alex after all this time. Ever, actually. It’s quite the last thing on his list. “That’s not usually… I don’t know what that was all about.” He shrugs as he turns back onto the pacific coast highway.

“You don’t?” Alex asks, and he can hear the incredulity mixed with humor in her tone, “It was pretty obvious. She was marking her territory, Matt.” She chuckles a little, but something sounds off about it, “Message received.”

Matt sighs; he wants to tell Alex the truth: that he no more _belongs_ to Deni than Alex belongs to him. It’s not quite the same, he realizes that—he could belong to Deni, he just doesn’t really want to. So, now that he thinks about it, it is exactly the same. Alex could belong to him, she just doesn’t want to. He and Deni, though, they’re just… well, he doesn’t really know what they’re doing, actually. He tries not to think about it too terribly much.

At his introspective silence, Alex continues, “So, the hiatus, then?”

Matt keeps his eyes on the road but tightens his grip on the steering wheel; his poor steering wheel is bearing the brunt of his frustration this evening, “Yeah,” He confirms, shrugging, “I was lonely.”

It’s a half-truth—he’d spent years lonely, and it never bothered him before. He’d been with women since Alex, but none of them meant anything to him, not really. When Matt had heard that Alex was going to be on the show, he felt desperate to try to move on from her, convinced she’d have moved on too, convinced she’d be able to see right through him if he hadn’t.

Deni had been after Matt for a while, and he _knew_ it; he knew what she wanted, and a week after he got the news of Alex’s recurring role on the series, he finally gave in to Deni after nearly a year of trying on her part. Deni was a nice enough girl, obviously beautiful, and maybe in a different life where he’d never met Alex, he could have truly and properly fallen for her. He’d wondered, when he agreed to date Deni, if maybe he still could. There were fleeting moments in bed where he thought _maybe_ , where it seemed like it would happen if given enough time.

Until today. The moment Matt saw Alex, he knew the truth. And the truth is that he _can’t_ fall for Deni—not when his heart still belongs to Alex. When he first saw her today, he resolved to tell her, to try to convince her that none of it, not a single one of these years without her, was _for the best_. But sitting on the hood of his car, the Pacific spread out in front of him, he was somehow right where he was four years ago—his heart in his hands, offering it up to the loveliest woman he’d ever met only to find that she didn’t want it, only to find that she didn’t want _him_. Sitting next to her now, Matt knows he couldn’t go through that again, he wouldn’t survive it.

Alex’s voice is quiet, thoughtful, “You don’t have to explain anything to me, darling.” She turns her head to look out the window at the sun beginning its slow descent in the sky, “I’m just happy you’re happy.” She whispers the words, but they feel so loud in the car as the highway stretches underneath his tires.

_Happy_. The word lodges itself in his stomach. He is, for the most part, he supposes. There are days he can’t believe that his life has turned out this way, that he gets to act for a living, that he gets to bring characters to life and that people pay him quite well to do it. But he hasn’t been _happy_ in the exact way that Alex means for a very long time, and when for a fleeting moment he was, it was snatched from him without any sense of warning.

The rest of the drive passes in companionable silence, the automated voice of his GPS the only sound in the car until he reaches Alex’s hotel. Per her instruction, he drives round the back and then pulls over near a row of rooms.

“This is me, then.” She says, unhooking her seat belt and unlatching the door. “Thanks for the ride, Matt.”

“Course, Kingston, anytime.” She climbs out of the car, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she closes the door. As she’s walking to the door of the hotel, a thought occurs to him and he quickly rolls down the passenger’s window, “Wait - how’re you getting to set tomorrow?”

Alex pauses and turns around, the sun casting light on her hair and making her look ethereal in the twilight, “You are sweet, darling, but Daniel told me they’d send a car.” She lifts her hand in a small wave, turns, and then disappears into her hotel.

Matt lingers for a moment staring at the closed door, then begins the drive back to his flat. The stop and go traffic that’s a staple the side streets he uses to avoid the 405 doesn’t bother him for once, because for the first time in ages he lets his mind wander to Alex. He’d spent so long training his mind _not_ to wander to Alex, that with full permission and even a bit of encouragement, she’s the only thought in his head.

He remembers Alex before their night together: warm and loving, naughty and mad, his brilliant beautiful friend that always had an undercurrent of joy, no matter the situation. He remembers Alex during their night together: all the things she always was, plus unbelievably sexy, sighing and moaning under his touch, her back arching, her fingers searching. He thinks about her face as she laughs at something ridiculous he’s done, her face as she sees a slice of chocolate cake, her face when she sees something she loves. He thinks about her face when she comes, as she had four times that night, and her face just at the end of ecstasy—he thinks about how he’d never known anyone could be that beautiful, how she taught him that in that precise moment.

The drive takes longer than it should, but lost in memory, he doesn’t notice.

When he’s finally home, he tosses his keys on the living room table and hurls himself onto the couch. He looks at his phone, sends Deni a quick text then tosses it to the side. He should call Deni back, he should go over to her place, or invite her round to his, but he just can’t, not tonight. The day has taken far too much out of him, and he hadn’t even realized it until he’d finally made it back to his couch.

Matt glances out his window, too spent to shut the blinds; lights twinkle and blink outside his window, and though he sometimes finds them grating, he finds them comforting now in his empty flat, the past rushing up on him without warning and without much reluctance on his part, if he’s honest. The twinkling lights outside his window taunt him some nights, but tonight they soothe him.

He lives too close to the Hollywood sign, nearly underneath it if you look from the right angle, but sometimes seeing it helps remind him why he’s here. It helps when he misses the grey and fog of London, the ease of the tube, the actual weather, the cynicism, a different brand than he’s found in LA—but the Hollywood sign has never helped him when he’s missed _her_.

And he does tonight, more than he has in a very, very long time. He wonders how many times he’s sat in his little empty flat under this bloody sign willing himself not to think about Alex, not to think about her skin under his palms, her mouth under his mouth, her breath hitching in his ear as he touched her any and every where—he almost never succeeds in willing those thoughts away, but tonight, as he unzips his jeans and takes himself in hand, he doesn’t even begin to try.

He can try again tomorrow; tonight, he lets the reels of his memory play with abandon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex snorts, “Still an incorrigible flirt, I see.” 
> 
> Matt smiles, shrugs his shoulders, and then sits in the director’s chair positioned next to Alex with a flourish, his limbs flailing about a bit as he sits. 
> 
> Matt smiles, “Well, I learned from the absolute best.” He meets Alex’s eyes in the mirror, and raises his eyebrows again. She rolls her eyes, but laughs. “I’m serious! You’re the biggest flirt I’ve ever met.” 
> 
> Alex chuckles, “I think the student may have surpassed the teacher, darling.”
> 
> Matt pulls a face, “Ooh, Kingston. You as my teacher, there’s a fantasy I can really get behind.” 
> 
> “I thought I was fantasy enough on my own,” She lets out a dramatic sigh, opening her eyes fully again, “I guess I must be losing my touch.”
> 
> Matt smirks at her, “No need to worry. I’m sure your touch is just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for your lovely, lovely comments. And for reading this story.

Alex rises with the sun, stretching her limbs as she wakes in the unfamiliar hotel bed. So much of her life has been spent waking up in hotel beds, wrapped in starched white sheets, crisp and clean, a thin blanket keeping her warm. When she was young, she would miss home sometimes, long for it in ways she almost never did now. She loves this life she’d made for herself, the life she’d fought to have after the dark days when she wished she didn’t have one at all; she loves this life even though she wakes up alone in the mornings, even though she falls asleep by herself at night. It’s safer that way, anyway, and she never wants to forget that. She is not a shadow in _this_ life, and there was a time when that fact alone was more than she could have even hoped for.

She showers and makes herself a cup of tea, presses her clothes, and is downstairs waiting for the car sent by production with five minutes to spare. As she stares at the sun still rising over Westwood, she smiles— _this_ is how yesterday was supposed to go. Alex was supposed to be fresh-faced and smiling, put-together and bright instead of harried, haggard, and eventually coffee-stained. She sips on her tea as the black car sent to carry her to set pulls up—she resolves to let it go. Her life had never much gone according to plan, she supposes, and second chances had always worked out better for her, anyway. For the most part.

The driver of the car gets out, introduces himself, and helps her with her rolling luggage, gently stowing it in the trunk; after filming wraps for the day, she’ll be moving into the house the director/showrunner has rented up in the Hollywood hills for the remaining duration of filming. It’s an unorthodox approach, and even though she knew about it going in, the strangeness of it still strikes her, unnerves her a bit if she’s being honest.

As it turns out, Matt’s declaration along with every rumor Alex has ever heard about Daniel was right; his work is intense, dramatic, and though she’d never particularly met a _director_ who subscribed to the philosophy, apparently he is quite method in how he wants to facilitate the ways in which his actors relate to one another.

He keeps a small cast for all of his projects, this one included, and always wants all of them to _bond_ to help with the overall mood and ambiance of the show or film; so invested is he in this particular brand of bonding that for this series, he’d rented out a semi-extravagant house in the Hollywood Hills that the cast would all be sharing for the next four weeks until filming wraps.

Alex had been trying not to think about that part of this recurring role equation; she was too old to be excited about a cast slumber party, but it would have been fine were it not for the idea of sharing a house with Matt. And even _that_ might not have been such a hard pill for her to swallow given how much she’d missed him and how much she wanted to at least have their friendship back since she’d left it too long to try to have anything else with him. But she _wouldn’t_ just be sharing a house with Matt—she’d be sharing a house with Matt and his very young and very pretty and apparently very jealous and possessive girlfriend. The thought made Alex queasy, settling a sense of unease throughout her entire body, and though she surely knows the reason, she still wasn’t quite ready to think about _why_ that was.

As the driver, Louis, makes his way up the 405, Alex looks out the window at passing cars; it’s a Thursday morning in LA, and drivers are in a hurry to get wherever it is they’re going—work, a meeting, class, a smoothie shop, _yoga_. She smiles at that last one—LA was where she fell in love with yoga, and of all the things this city gave to her, she thinks that might just be one of her favorites.

She’d always loved her body, she’d always felt comfortable in her own skin and had never been ashamed or scared of it, but yoga had given her a particular reverence for it—and it was a reverence she carried with her to this day, and which she knew she would always carry no matter how many trips around the sun she took. She loves her body, its strength and its power, even now, even in the face of a world that told her maybe she shouldn’t anymore, in the face of a world that told her maybe she never should have loved it in the first place. Living in this city for so long taught her about perfect bodies, and about how such a thing doesn’t exist so much that it does; the idea of a perfect body is so ludicrous to her now because _every_ body is a perfect body, worthy of love and reverence.

As they inch closer and closer to the studio, Alex feels the butterflies begin in her stomach—it feels like it’s the first day of school, and no matter how many plays, TV shows, or films she does, the first day always brings with it that nervous bout of excitement and energy that trickles through her veins until it has made its way through her entire body.

Truth is, it had been awhile since she’d been on set for a TV show, and even longer since she’d been on set for a TV show in America, at that. She’d done theatre mostly these days, which didn’t bother her given the fact that it was her very first true love—it’s why she got into acting in the first place. Some days, as she stood on stage taking in the exhilaration and pure thrill of a live audience watching her perform, she wondered if she’d ever return to TV or film and if she would even miss it if she never did. There’s something about a live audience that is unparalleled, and she’d not to this day found a good substitute for it. A life on the stage would be a life well-spent, as far as she was concerned.

Then this part had come to her as a straight out offer, and she’d read the script and decided to give it a go—she knew Matt was on the show, of course, it was hugely popular in America and elsewhere, but she did her best to not let that factor into her decision one way or another. And there were days leading up to her departure to America to begin filming in which she almost convinced herself that the prospect of seeing him again hadn’t actually factored in at all.

Today, she realizes now, is not one of those days. The closer she gets to the lot, the more the anticipation kicks up in her stomach, and she knows it’s not just about being on set for the first time in ages, though that’s certainly part of it. The true source of her nerves, she knows, is the prospect of seeing Matt again in this capacity; it’s about being on set with Matt, acting _with Matt_ again after all these years.

By the time they pull onto the lot, Alex has sufficiently worked herself up into a ball of frantic nerves. When Louis opens the car door for her and then proceeds to remove her luggage from the trunk, she takes a few calming breaths in and out— _yogic breathing_ —and she is surprised to find that it works, at least a bit. Usually, when she’s this worked up, which doesn’t happen very often, no amount of breathing yogic or otherwise can truly steady her.

When she arrives in hair and makeup, her breathing techniques have calmed her considerably, and left her with only the barest of first day jitters. The minute she’s in the room, the three women waiting for her swarm.

“Oh, you’re here!” Says the oldest of the three, “I’m Maggie, this is Kristin,” She points to a younger blonde standing next to her, “And this is Victoria,” She nods her head to a brunette who smiles and offers a little wave, “And we have just been _dying_ to get our hands on this _hair_ of yours!” She reaches up and to take a strand of Alex’s hair and tugs gently on the curl.

Alex smiles, wheeling her suitcase under the makeup counter, “Well,” she says, spinning around to face them, “I’m sure that excitement will fade once you _actually_ get your hands on it.” She grins, “It’s notoriously unmanageable; nearly incited riots and strikes from hair and makeup on many a set, I’m afraid.”

“Nonsense,” Maggie waves her hand, and then arranges a director’s chair in front of the mirror.

“We’ll see. Where do you want me, then?” Alex raises her eyebrows with the question.

Maggie pats the director’s chair whilst sporting a huge grin, her gaze still fixed on Alex’s curls. Smiling, but rolling her eyes slightly, Alex climbs into the chair and situates herself, propping her feet on the little wooden foot stand. The minute Alex is in the chair, Maggie slides her hands through Alex’s curls, getting a feel for how her hair works, the texture, the weight. Alex settles in, listening to Maggie’s exclamations— _gorgeous, thick, so curly_ —as Victoria and Kristin surround her, rolling makeup trays and hot tools near the director’s chair.

Alex sighs, closing her eyes as she listens to the three women around her chatter. She always makes jokes about her hair, but she’s learned to love it—she knows it’s given her more than one opportunity she might not have had otherwise. Still, it’s a beast, just as she warned, and she knows she’ll be in the chair for at least an hour, depending on Maggie’s skill level and patience; she wasn’t exactly lying before, she’d had hair artists _quit_ in the face of her thick mane. But the women around her seem enraptured by her hair rather than afraid of it, so she thinks there won’t be any dramatic walkouts today.

Alex makes conversation with the three women as they work on her, Victoria and Kristin splitting makeup duties while Maggie begins excitedly spiraling Alex’s curls around a hot iron.

“Just to tidy them up a bit,” Maggie says, leaning forward a bit over Alex’s shoulder as she unwraps a curl from the iron and lets it fall.

Alex snorts, amused, “Sure.”

“You stop that now,” Maggie scolds, as she holds another piece of Alex’s hair in her hands. She points the curling iron a bit threateningly at her in the mirror, “You know how many people would _kill_ for hair like this?” She shakes her head, still muttering under her breath as she takes the iron to another section.

Alex smiles, and then closes her eyes again, allowing Kristin to work on her eyelids, lining the right one with a black pencil.

“This will make your eyes pop even more, _if_ that’s even possible.” Kristin says, expertly drawing the pencil over Alex’s lid before she picks up a tube of mascara.

Alex laughs lightly, opening her eyes again per Kristin’s instruction; she shivers a little at the slightly ticklish feel of mascara applied by someone else—she’d learned early on in her acting career that her eyelids were rather ticklish, apparently. Strange, but true.

Alex surveys the team as they work: Maggie, in her mid-70s, thin with unapologetically gray hair; Kristin, young and blonde, beautiful in her own right, and Victoria, brunette and quiet, but with deep-set, sharp eyes. They banter with one another with abandon, trading quips and barbs, and Alex decides immediately that she quite likes this makeup team.

In her experience, it’s always been hit or miss with hair and makeup, _especially_ in LA. Some artists are so intensely snooty, as though you should thank your lucky stars they deign to do your makeup at all, while others are little more than chatty gossipmongers, hell-bent on finding out the next bit of gossip from you so they can post it on their blog.

But the three women around her now seem to strike a very pleasant balance, and Alex is happy to realize that she feels rather at ease amongst them. A bit like they’re old friends. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that they shower her with compliments as they work.

“You’re going to give me a big head, you’re not careful.” Alex closes her eyes again at Kristin’s directive.

Maggie snaps the curling iron at her, “With _that_ body, hon, frankly I don’t know how you don’t have one already.”

Alex opens her mouth to respond, but someone beats her to it, and her eyes snap open, earning her a swift curse from Kristin.

“Alex Kingston’s body is _legendary_. Truer words.”

_Matt_. Alex mumbles an apology to Kristin, and then turns her head to see Matt standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He’s smirking, and Alex brings herself to roll her eyes, but she still feels the crimson sneaking up her skin. _Damn him_. She’d never been one to blush easily, but the intensity of his gaze has always done things to her, and after their night together it’s apparently magnified his capabilities of setting her on-edge tenfold.

Letting his eyes linger on Alex for just a second longer, Matt finally tears his gaze away from her and pushes himself from the frame, “Maggie!” He exclaims, swooping into the room. He rounds the director’s chair and envelops Maggie in a tight hug, “So glad to see you back for season two!” He smiles at her, then pulls back to look at her up and down, “Speaking of _legendary_.” He grins, raising his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Maggie heaves a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes and holding her curling iron up as though it’s a weapon to be used against him.

Alex snorts, “Still an incorrigible flirt, I see.”

Matt smiles, shrugs his shoulders, and then sits in the director’s chair positioned next to Alex with a flourish, his limbs flailing about a bit as he sits.

“He’s so bad, my husband wasn’t sure if he should be jealous or not, the stories I’d tell.” Maggie smiles, shaking her head, “Until the season one wrap party, that is, where Matt flirted with _everyone_ … _including_ my husband.” Maggie laughs, looking at Matt fondly in the mirror.

Matt smiles, “Well, I learned from the absolute best.” He meets Alex’s eyes in the mirror, and raises his eyebrows again. She rolls her eyes, but laughs. “I’m serious! _You’re_ the biggest flirt I’ve ever met.”

Alex chuckles as Kristin puts the finishing touches on her eye makeup, sweeping a nude colored eye shadow over her half closed lids, “I think the student may have surpassed the teacher, darling.”

Matt pulls a face, “Ooh, Kingston. You as my _teacher_ , there’s a fantasy I can really get behind.”

“I thought I was fantasy enough on my own,” She lets out a dramatic sigh, opening her eyes fully again, “I guess I must be losing my touch.”

Matt smirks at her, “No need to worry. I’m sure _your touch_ is just fine.”

Maggie sets the curling iron down and fluffs Alex’s hair, looking between she and Matt in the mirror, amusement playing on her face, “Do you two want us to _leave_?”

Alex smiles, and goes to speak, but once again, Matt beats her to it, “It’s okay. Alex has never been _shy_.”

Alex sighs, staring at him pointedly, “Oh, shut _up_ , Matt.”

Maggie grins as she leans over and unplugs the curling iron. Glancing over her shoulder, she nods her head in Alex’s direction, “Oh, I _like_ her.” She straightens and grabs a bit of product, pouring a dollop into her hand. She works it into Alex’s roots, “And not just because of all this glorious hair.”

Matt smiles as Victoria starts to put makeup on his face, “Her hair _is_ rather glorious, isn’t it? Magic, really, it’s the only explanation.”

Alex rolls her eyes; she’d forgotten how much she does that when Matt’s around. But it’s fondness that drives her to it, and she has missed the opportunity to be playfully exasperated with him.

The room slips into a comfortable silence, broken up by the occasional smattering of conversation, and Alex can’t help but watch Matt in the mirror as he sits with his eyes closed as his makeup is applied. It’s been four years, but when she looks at his face now, it seems like it’s been a lifetime—he looks so much the same, but so different, too. Older, more confident somehow, even though he’s just passively sitting there as Victoria sweeps a dollop of makeup over his face.

Alex suddenly feels a bit ridiculous for worrying so much about being back on set with Matt; it’s always been their default. It’s where they ironed things out between them, even back in the push-pull days of _Who_. Maybe if they’d had a set to act as the great equalizer between them after their night together, things wouldn’t have gone as sour for them. Maybe they could have worked through it and maintained at least some semblance of a friendship; maybe they’d be okay. Maybe they could be again, here, on this set.

As Victoria finishes the final touches on Matt’s face, Maggie checks her watch, “Done, and with five minutes to spare. That wench Millie in wardrobe can’t even _start_ to run her big mouth this time.”

Matt opens his eyes and chuckles as he leans forward to retrieve his bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, he brings the bottle to his lips, “That’s no way to talk about your _sister_ , Mags. Two peas, you are.”

Maggie rolls her eyes as she puts her hair tools away, “Oh please, young man. She’s a thousand times worse than me, and you know it.” Victoria and Kristin head out of the room, making mention of the craft services table, and Maggie follows behind them, looking at Alex and winking, “Better get your pretty ass over to Wardrobe, you’ve got to be camera-ready in 30 minutes.” She shuts the door behind her with a final wave.

Alex glances at her watch, shocked at how quickly the morning has flown by. At the thought of being in front of the camera again, Alex feels her nerves start anew. She smooths her palms over her jeans, and resists the urge to talk to herself out loud in the mirror, as she is prone to do. It is an embarrassing habit enough as it is, but to let it slip in front of Matt absolutely would not do. She presses her eyes shut, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. When she opens her eyes again, she catches Matt staring at her in the mirror.

He screws the top back on his water bottle and then turns his head to look at her, “Alright, Alex?”

The concern in his voice makes her turn to face him, and she feels her stomach tighten when she sees the same concern reflected in his eyes.

Alex nods, twisting her hands in front of her. “It’s just…” She sighs, “Been awhile.” At his quirked eyebrow, she pushes at his shoulder, trying to ignore the feel of his strong shoulder under her palm and the fact that it’s only the second time she’s touched him in four years, “Not like that, you twat.” He just grins at her, and she shakes her head, “Since I’ve been on-camera, and I’m…” She trails off, slightly embarrassed, “I’m a bit nervous.” She mutters the words under her breath, averting her gaze to her hands, still wrung tightly together.

When Matt is silent next to her, she gathers her courage to look at him. He’s watching her carefully, twirling his water bottle around in his hands. He smiles gently at her, letting her know she has no reason to be embarrassed. She smiles at him gratefully.

“ _You,_ nervous?” He chuckles, “It’ll be fine!” He smiles at her, “It’s just like riding a bike, Kingston!”

She unwrings her hands and stands from the director’s chair, “Yes, well.” Alex smirks, stopping for a moment directly in front of him. She licks her lips and drops her voice so it’s low and quiet in the empty makeup room, like what she’s telling him is a secret: “I haven’t ridden _anything_ in quite some time, darling.”

She breezes past him and heads out the door, heading to Wardrobe and leaving him with his mouth agape. Oh, she’d forgotten how _fun_ it was to leave him stunned like that.

x

Matt stares at the closed door for a moment after she’s gone—he can’t quite believe that Alex is nervous. She’s one of the best actresses he’s ever known, has been for ages, but her parting comment makes him smile. He’d missed Alex these past four years, but he’d quite missed their bantering even more. He hadn’t expected them to slip so easily back into those roles, not given what happened between them—this morning on the way to set, he’d vowed to give it the old college try, as the Americans he’d been surrounding himself with the past two years tend to say. But he’d expected a fight on her part; he’d expected awkwardness and quiet refusal that he’d have to barge through.

Matt _hadn’t_ expected Alex to talk to him about _riding things_. He smiles and shakes his head, tossing his water bottle on the counter in front of him. Alex always was full of surprises—he is very glad to see that hasn’t changed, glad to be on the receiving end of her naughty comments, which is his favorite place to be if he isn’t giving them to her, anyway.

But he wasn’t lying earlier, he _did_ learn from the best. Alex could flirt with the best of them—and she frequently _did_ if her stories about Clooney are anything to go by—but she always left Matt with some sexy mental image, usually of _her_ , that he had to actively try to stop thinking about.

Case in point: he sits very still in the director’s chair for a moment, willing himself not to think about Alex riding anything, him or otherwise. He fails miserably as usual, this time remembering her above him that night, her head tipped back, her mouth open in pleasure—pleasure _he_ gave her. Matt spends the next twenty minutes doing the most complicated Maths equations he can remember, not caring whether or not he gets the answers right, until he finally has his predicament enough under control that he can stand and walk on to set without the world knowing he’d been thinking very, very dirty thoughts.

Matt moves on to set and says hello to a few crew members and regular background actors; he plucks a few grapes from a bunch on the craft services table, then heads over to his director’s chair, _Matt Smith_ emblazoned on it in thick white lettering. His eyes move to the chair seated directly to the right of his own and he smiles: _Alex Kingston_ , and it feels just like older, simpler times.

Grinning, he whips out his phone and snaps a picture, uploading it the Instagram Deni forced him to create during the hiatus. He didn’t generally care about social media, content to ignore it most days, but Deni did – it was her _brand_ , really, and she’d whined until he finally capitulated and downloaded the app which he still very rarely uses. Being back on set with Alex is a special occasion, he thinks, as the picture finishes uploading. He captions it, ( _together again_ ) and tags her account she also rarely ever uses, before he settles himself in his chair and keeps scrolling through pictures. It’s a bit of a time waster, he’ll give it at least that much.

After awhile, Matt pulls open his text messages and types out a few replies, mindlessly asking Kazza and Darvill how being ridiculous superheroes is going today.

_Fine_ , replies Karen, _but sad I don’t get to work with the Kingston. You’re so lucky!_

Matt grins, and makes to type a cheeky reply, but is interrupted by the murmurs of background actors and crew around him. He snaps his head up to see Alex, making her way across the set, stopping to introduce herself to people, smiling genuinely as they stop her and shake her hand. She envelops a couple of people in hugs, stopping to chat, her hand resting on their forearms as she leans in to listen to whatever it is they’re saying to her. Matt’s never seen anyone so genuine in the way she deals with people; it’s authentic, and lovely, and quintessentially _Alex_. It’s one of the things he lo—well, admires about her.

As Alex chats, Matt lets his eyes roam where he pleases. She is dressed in a simple black wrap dress—he’d like to thank his sister for all of his fashion knowledge, and the wardrobe department for knowing exactly what they’re doing because the dress accentuates her curves in the best possible way, clinging to her hips and affording a _lovely_ expanse of cleavage, even from where he sits halfway across the studio. Her curls are perfectly framing her face, her makeup flawlessly applied, her sensible heels still somehow sexy in the way they exemplify the shape of her calves. The dim light in the studio bounces off her hair, and he’s never seen _anyone_ look more beautiful in his life.

When Alex finishes her conversation with the girl at the craft services table who hands Alex a cup of what looks to be tea, Alex turns to face Matt, smiling when she sees him as she makes her way over to where he sits.

She situates herself in the chair next to him, still smiling.

“Just like old times, eh?” Matt asks, indicating their chairs next to each other.

Matt watches as something that looks suspiciously like sadness passes over her face, but it’s gone before he can ask her about it, before he can even think if he _should_ ask her about it; it’s replaced with a smile, but he’s pleased to note it’s genuine, “Yes, darling. Old times.”

She crosses her right leg over her left and props her script up on her knee, opening up to the pages they’re going to be filming today. Balancing her tea precariously in her left hand, she unclips her pen from the first few pages, and taps it idly against the page as she reads. Matt watches her, enjoying the way she bites her lip as her eyes scan the page quickly. He knows she knows her lines, she’s probably memorized them in every room in her house five times over by now, but it’s a little ritual she has right before filming, a _final check_ just in case. He’s pleased to see she hasn’t changed her rituals, always erring a bit more on the superstitious side than anyone could have ever guessed. He’s about to open his mouth to comment, when Daniel rushes on to set, a flurry of young PAs hot on his heels.

“Everyone!” Daniel says, his voice booming around the studio—it’s a deep baritone, at odds with his stature, which is decidedly shorter than average. “Let’s get this season—our penultimate, you know—on the road!” Someone hands him a megaphone, and he passes it off to one of the PAs, shaking his head. “We’re happy to welcome _Alex Kingston_ on set with us today,” A round of applause breaks out, and Matt joins in, clapping boisterously even as Alex ducks her head in embarrassment and gives a little wave of thanks and acknowledgement, “She’s a great addition and we’re incredibly lucky she signed on to our humble show.” Daniel grins at her, giving her a little salute, and then claps his hands together once, the sound echoing just a bit in the soundstage, “And with that, I’m going to call _places_ for season two, everyone, _places_.”

Alex snaps her script shut, and then sets it along with her tea on the table next to the chairs. As she rises from her chair, Maggie comes over to fluff her hair a bit while Kristin reapplies a light shade of lipstick. Matt slides from his own chair and watches as Alex blots her lips on a tissue Kristin holds out.

After Kristin walks away, joining Maggie in a chair near craft services, Matt leans forward into Alex, dropping his voice to a whisper as he speaks inside her ear, “Ready to _ride_ , Kingston?” He watches her freeze for just a moment; he hadn’t forgotten exactly what his voice in her ear did to her, and he grins as a slow smile spreads across her face.

She steps forward to take her place on the little x on the floor made out of tape; when he joins her on his marker, directly across from her, she winks at him, “Lovely offer, darling. Maybe later.”

Matt feels a little jolt of electricity run through him as her words seep into his veins, and the images come fast and hard and quite without warning: Alex’s lovely wrap dress bunched around her hips, her knickers pushed hastily to the side as he sits on the couch in his trailer, his hand snaking into that wrap dress and into her bra as he caresses her, as he pulls and pinches in just the way he learned she likes. He shakes his head to dislodge the sexy image, and he sees Alex smirking at him, an amused look on her face.

Oh, how _little_ she’d actually changed—she still enjoys riling him up, and he is still happy to let her if the thrill that shot through him at the realization is any indication. He smiles at her as the cameras surrounding them move into position.

They’re standing in the middle of what has been made to look like the interior of a small café, plush chairs surrounding them along with a little bistro style table and chairs they’re meant to sit at for most of their scene together. Extras stand around in the background, waiting for their cues to cross here, drink that, or chatter silently.

It’s the first time Matt’s character is going to meet his girlfriend’s mother, Alex’s character, and as the girlfriend is running quite late, an awkward moment ensues.

As he stands, waiting, Matt takes a deep breath, willing all sexy thoughts of Alex to dissipate from his mind—he laughs a bit at the notion, but he still pretends that it’s even a remote possibility. For as long as he can remember—literally, since he was 14 watching Moll Flanders in his room— _Alex_ has been synonymous with _sexy_ in his mind. He’ll just have to _act_ like that’s not the case.

Right, then. Easy. He shakes his limbs out a bit, loosening himself up, trying not to look at Alex watching him bemusedly from her own little x; he stares at that, at her x underneath her feet, which seems a safer target for his eyes if he’s truly to achieve this than any of Alex’s actual person.

“ _Picture’s up!” “Roll sound!” “Rolling!” “Speed!” “Slating and mark!” “Set!” “Background, action!”_

Matt hears the rapid-fire call out and sees the background actors begin moving around him, his eyes still focused on the ‘x’ beneath Alex’s feet: _Alex is not sexy, Alex is not sexy, Alex is not sexy_ runs on a loop in his brain.

“And, _action_!”

Daniel’s words spur Matt into action precisely as they’re meant to, and his eyes snap up to meet Alex’s blue-green, and only one thought enters his mind then: _fuck, Alex is sexy_.

It’s his line first, and he manages to deliver it, despite the new decidedly more accurate and truthful loop running through his brain. He listens as Alex’s voice falls from her lips like honey as she introduces her character to his. She extends her hand, and Matt reaches out and takes it, his long fingers curling around her small hand. Her palm is so soft and warm, and his eyes drop down to see where their hands are joined. Her fingers are so delicate, his hand completely enveloping hers, and her touch is electric, even through something as simple as a handshake. He tries not to think about how soft her skin is, tries not to remember the way her soft and nimble hands explored his body freely, tries not to remember her small hand wrapped around his—

_“Lovely to meet you_.” He hears her say, as she extricates her hand from his.

He feels the blush creep up his neck, and though he’s powerless to stop it, he tries anyway, but to no avail. His face is hot, he can _feel_ it.

_“And you_.” He hears himself saying, and though it’s not part of the stage direction, he runs his hand along the back of his neck nervously before moving to pull one of the chairs in front of the bistro table out, as per the stage direction, so she can sit in it.

She smiles at him, and then drops herself down in the chair as he pushes it in behind her. Matt valiantly resists the urge to lean in and sniff her hair, and feels as though he should allow himself a biscuit or some other treat later for displaying such a tremendous amount of willpower. He walks around to the other chair and sits down, just as a background actor sets two cups of coffee down in front of them before leaving without a word.

They run through their lines seamlessly, neither one of them missing a beat or a line, and Matt is reminded again of old times, of how easy acting with Alex Kingston is—of how _fun_ acting with Alex Kingston is. It’s a charged scene, a protective mother meeting her daughter’s mysterious boyfriend for the first time, but it feels so much more fun than anything he’s done on this show to date; he is under no illusion that it’s anything other than to do with his current scene partner.

They’re a little more than halfway through the scene when Daniel’s voice rings out, “ _Cut!_ ” The words boom around the set, and Matt and Alex pause, a bit startled by the intrusion. They both turn to look at Daniel where he stands behind the camera.

Daniel peers around the camera, “Okay, I love _a lot_ of what you guys are doing. Your chemistry is _off the charts_.”

Matt smiles, but shifts a bit uneasily in his chair, refusing to look at Alex, who he knows looks at least as uncomfortable as he must right now, if not more so.

“But,” Daniel says, stepping around the camera with a bit of a flourish, “That’s kind of the problem here, I think.” He slides his non-prescription black-rimmed glasses up on top of his head, “Can you try to _cut_ the sexual tension between you two entirely?” He waves his arms around, “There’s just a lot of it flying around, and it’s hot, don’t get me wrong, but not really what the scene calls for, y’know? Like bring the eye-fucking down from where it’s at now—a 10—bring that to a solid zero. Point-five if you must.””

Matt clears his throat, “Alright.” He nods, then looks at Alex, who refuses to meet his gaze, still looking at Daniel. She nods wordlessly as she stands and moves to her first marker and Matt follows suit.

Daniel smiles, then steps behind the camera again, “Okay, from the top.”

They’re nearly to the same spot when Daniel stops them again, “ _Cut!_ ” He leans over to his AD, and though he tries to be quiet, his voice carries, “This isn’t _exactly_ the awkward moment I had in mind.” Daniel grabs the megaphone from a small table and switches it on, bringing it up to his mouth, “Still too much sexual tension you two. Let’s try it again.”

Matt doesn’t have to look to know that Alex is mortified—he feels a bit embarrassed, too; he’d thought he was a better actor than this, to be honest.

There’s always been something electric between he and Alex, but he’d never had to subvert it before, he’d never even tried, and it was a bit unsettling to learn that he’s not really capable of it. When they acted together last, there had been no reason to subvert it, though—the immense sexual tension and chemistry that existed between them with no effort on either side had helped during filming, not hindered.

As they move into position to start yet again, Matt tries to steel himself, tries to pretend he’s acting with anyone other than Alex, but it doesn’t work. Apparently _nothing works_.

The fifth time through Matt can tell that the crew—and Alex—are starting to get frustrated. As they run through their lines again, Matt tries to think of every _unsexy_ thing he possibly can while still remembering his lines; he doesn’t know if it’s working, but it’s drowning out the very naughty thoughts running through his head about Alex, so he’s willing to count it as a win. They make it farther into the scene than they have so far, and Matt is in the middle of mentally patting himself on the back when he hears “ _Cut!_ ” echoing around the studio yet again.

Daniel is quiet, not saying a word, and Matt turns his head to look at him where he stands behind the camera. Matt wonders if Daniel might be angry, because it’s hard to tell; he has his forehead resting in his palm, and he’s massaging his temples with his thumb and middle finger. Matt watches Daniel’s nostrils flare with every inhale, and Daniel looks very deep in thought, his long sandy blond hair falling around his face.

In another life, Matt imagines, the California born and raised director/showrunner/writer would be a surfer boy beach bum who lived in swim trunks and flip-flops and called everyone _dude_. The thought makes Matt smile, despite the tension emanating from everyone on set, including Alex who sits stock still across from him, her head also resting in her palm.

Suddenly, Daniel inhales sharply, decision apparently made. He claps his hands together once, then rubs them together, the sound slightly grating.

“Alright,” Daniel says, stepping from behind the camera. He points his finger in Matt and Alex’s general direction. He nods once, “Okay. You know what? Actually go ahead and leave it in. That’s what we’re gonna do. It’s fuckin’ _weird_ and I like it. Let’s start from the top, carry on as you were.” He grins, stepping once more behind the camera, “Hell, add a bit more. As much as you want, let’s see how this goes.” He looks proud of himself as he holds up his hand and calls for quiet on the set.

It’s all the permission Matt needs. And after _action_ on their sixth take is called, his touch lingers when they shake hands, he _does_ lean forward and inhale when she sits down, letting his eyes flutter shut as Alex’s sweet, slightly floral scent invades his nostrils. The dialogue takes on a subtext all its own, innuendo somehow sliding under even the most innocuous of words, Alex giving just as good as she gets, her throaty voice sliding over the words and injecting dirty meanings even he hadn’t thought possible. _Sandwich_ from her lips sounds like foreplay during this take, and Matt loves every second of it.

By the time they’re through the scene—one take this time—Matt feels the intense need for a cold shower, because a quiet scene with Alex Kingston is somehow the absolute hottest thing that has happened to him in _years_.

“ _Cut_!” Daniel yells again, but when he steps out from behind the camera _this_ time, he’s smiling – his grin wide. “That. Was. Brilliant.” He accentuates each word of the sentence, stepping a bit closer to Alex and Matt, “It’s not at all what I intended, but my _god_ it’s going to work so well on camera. You two are like lightning in a fuckin’ bottle. One more fix – at the top, when you shake hands. Matt,” Daniel points at him, “Lean in and kiss her cheek.” Daniel grins, proud of himself for the suggestion, “Alright, let’s do the intro one more time, and then it’s a wrap on this scene until _the daughter_ enters.”

Matt nods his acknowledgement, and they film the introduction one more time, Matt leaning in to press his lips against Alex’s cheek softly. Her hand tightens in his as his lips brush against her skin, and he feels her stiffen just a bit against him before she relaxes. When he pulls back to look at her, her eyes are just fluttering open, and a slow smile that can only be described as _sensual_ spreads across her face before she delivers her line.

When he calls the final cut of this scene, Daniel is practically _giddy_ , showering both Matt and Alex with praise for their unconventional take on this scene, for their ability to see something that even Daniel, as head-writer, showrunner, director did not even begin to fathom. Daniel walks away, calling for the crew to set up for the next shot.

Matt chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the praise. It wasn’t an intentional read on the scene that had him playing it that way, it was simply that he couldn’t turn his attraction to and desire for Alex exactly _off_. Nevertheless, Matt is still a bit pleased to take the compliment, undeserved though it may be. He looks at Alex, still sitting in the little wire chair across from him.

Matt smiles at her, “Well, that was fun.”

Alex smiles back at him, but it’s a bit shaky, “It was.” She nods, and Matt can tell she’s telling the truth, but he can also tell that there’s something else behind her words. Before he gets the chance to ask her about it, she leans back in the chair and crosses her legs, “After that little 5 take hiccup at the start.” She leans forward, resting her elbow on the wire table and dropping her chin into her open palm as she looks at him, “It’s just like riding a _what_ , now?” A wicked smile spreads across her face.

Matt grins at her, leaning forward so their heads are closer together, “A _bike_ , Kingston. You know, I can help you practice, if you’d like.”

Alex tips her head back and laughs, then fixes him with a stare as she uncrosses her legs and stands up, poised to head back to her director’s chair and cold tea, “Oh, darling. If I’m going to be riding anything of yours in the near future,” She bends down a bit so she’s eye-level with him, and Matt makes a valiant effort to keep his gaze trained on her eyes instead of her cleavage, and he very nearly succeeds except for one mishap, “I _do rather hope_ it isn’t your _bike_.”

Alex smirks at him, stands upright, and then walks across the set, her hips swaying seductively as she goes, leaving Matt with little choice but to stare, his eyes transfixed by the gentle to-and-fro of her body, accentuated in such a lovely way by the wardrobe department. He’d have to send Millie a thank you note, perhaps even a box of chocolates. Maggie would be insanely jealous, but it would be worth it.

Matt remains transfixed by Alex as she heads over to the director’s chair, hoists herself up, and crosses her legs, her dress riding up just a bit, just enough to afford a spectacular view of her shapely strong thighs. He tries not to remember the way they felt wrapped around his waist as he pressed her up against the wall of his flat, but it’s all he can think of as he closes his eyes, the images blinking like a picture-show behind his lids. He’d certainly relived their night together enough times, but seeing her like this, hearing her voice sling innuendo at him like no time has passed at all, brings the images to the forefront of his mind, where before seeing her again he was able to at least regulate them to the recesses during times it would be inappropriate to call upon them.

But here he is now, surrounded by cast and crew, remembering Alex Kingston’s lovely thighs wrapped around him as he drove into her over and over again until she screamed his name. And there’s not a damn thing he can do to stop the sexy images from playing one by one.

Matt _feels_ her energy before he sees her, a seething specific type of anger radiating from the corner of the room; his hair stands up a bit, almost as though someone has jammed a needle into a voodoo doll that looks suspiciously like him, and Matt instantly _knows_ that Deni has been watching the entire scene between he and Alex unfold. Reluctantly pushing images of Alex out of his mind, he opens his eyes and follows the anger he feels to the corner of the room where he sees Deni, in costume and completely made up, with her hands on her narrow hips, staring at him.

Matt considers, just for a split second, ignoring her. But he knows that won’t solve the problem. He knows he needs to deal with this now, even though he hasn’t a clue how to do that, or it will morph into something much bigger than it already is. With a heavy sigh, he stands and walks across the set to the corner of the room where Deni is waiting, watching, _seething_.

He smiles when he sees her, but he can tell it’s not believable, and he vaguely wonders what it looks like from the outside as he moves to pull her into a very quick hug.

When he pulls back, she’s looking at him, her eyes narrowed, “How lovely to finally hear from you.” The sarcasm drips from her voice, and Matt fights the sudden urge to roll his eyes.

“Yeah,” He runs a hand through his hair, “Sorry about that. I was knackered when I got home.”

Deni looks over his shoulder, and Matt doesn’t have to turn around to know exactly who Deni is looking at.

“Yeah,” She smiles, and it’s just as false as his must have been on the walk over, “I’ll just bet.”

Matt sighs—truth was, he didn’t sleep very much last night between… _thinking_ about Alex, and thinking about Alex. He tossed and turned for a long while, trying to play different scenarios in his head, wondering what finally being on set with her again would actually be like. He drifted off into a fitful sleep where he dreamt about Alex, and he woke up feeling incredibly _bereft._

So, he’s a bit too tired today for Deni’s games. When he was younger, he rather liked the games women he dated played. It was flirty and fun, and it was a bit thrilling to make a partner needlessly jealous. But, he’s too old for those games now. _And, it’s not needless_ , his subconscious reminds him, tauntingly.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Deni?” He doesn’t even try to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

She doesn’t answer his question; she just puts her hands back on her hips and looks at him, her gaze hardened, “What _was_ that, Matt?” She quirks her head to the now-empty bistro table on set.

He considers playing dumb for a moment, but he knows exactly what she means. Sighing, he shrugs his shoulders, “We… took it in a different direction.”

“Oh, is that what you call it? See, because _I’d_ call flirting _like that_ with someone old enough to be your--”

“ _Deni_.” Matt cuts her off, and his tone is harsh, his voice carrying a bit through the studio as people milling about turn to look at them. A warning passes in his eyes, but he can see that she’s going to ignore it.

Matt sees the rage flash in her eyes in response to his tone, “I’d call _that_ a proper Oedipal complex.” Matt feels the rage course through his own body at her words, but Deni just smirks. “Whatever.” Deni glances over his shoulder again, “Just remember whose bed you were in two nights ago, and whose name you were gasping at the end of it.”

With that, Deni leans up and kisses him, threading her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck before snaking one hand down and drawing his body roughly against hers. She falls back into the wall behind her, tugging him along with her—he braces himself against the wall, kissing her back briefly before trying to pull away. She holds his mouth to hers, though, the hand on his back clutching tightly at his shirt before she finally pushes him away. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and smirks at him before sliding underneath his arms, still braced against the wall, and walking away, that same smirk on her face as her dangerously high heels click noisily against the floor of the soundstage.

Matt shakes his head and tries to clear his thoughts—he shouldn’t feel _wrong_ for kissing his _girlfriend_. It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal of someone he hadn’t even seen or spoken to in four years.

But as he pushes off from the wall and turns around to head towards craft services, he sees Alex watching him with a carefully guarded expression, her eyes fixed on him as he moves; when his eyes meet hers, and she glances down at the paper tea cup she holds in her lap, Matt realizes that while kissing Deni _shouldn’t_ feel like a betrayal, it absolutely _does_.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alex, be careful.” Matt warns, “I don’t want you to fall.”
> 
> “Tried careful once,” Alex smiles at him a bit sadly, then turns her head to peer over the edge of the glass partition, “And with no TARDIS to catch me this time.” She turns back to face him and at his stern look, she laughs, “Darling, it’s fine.” She smirks, letting a bit of seduction find its way into her face as she presses her weight against the partition, testing its durability experimentally, “We could probably shag right up against it and it’d be no worse for the wear.”
> 
> Matt chokes on air, the images coming unbidden—or quite bidden, really.
> 
> "God, Alex.” He says, shaking his head as a smile spreads slowly across his face.
> 
> She chuckles, shrugging, “Sorry, darling.”
> 
> He barks out a laugh, “You’re not.”
> 
> She eyes him and purses her lips, grinning, “You’re right, I’m not.” She sighs, “Not for that, anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 11k - a bit long (okay, a lot long), but there is no good/organic place to break it up. 
> 
> So, yeah - here, have this 11k!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading - your comments are so lovely and I can only hope I don't disappoint.

_This is your own fault, Alex_.

She’s really beginning to hate the voice of her subconscious, which sounds like an odd mixture of her mother, her sister, Meryl Streep, and perhaps most strangely, Arthur Darvill, but Scottish. Some days, the voice runs through her head so much she’s worried she’s a phrase away from muttering to herself on a street corner; it had been quieter in recent months, but since she’s been back in LA, the bloody voice just won’t stop.

As she watches Matt with Deni, as she watches Matt with his _girlfriend_ , the voice repeats that particular gem on a loop. And the worst part is, she knows it’s right. It _is_ her fault. At least, partly. She’s the one who walked away from him in the morning light in the aftermath of what they did. She’s the one that put that wall back up brick by brick, making sure construction was well finished before the sun had even finished rising.

But she longs to remind the voice that she did it to protect him, yes, but also to protect herself; if Matt didn’t realize it back then—that whatever emotion he felt for her was fleeting at best—he surely would have realized it by now, and she’d be in the same exact position, perhaps an even worse one.

The only thing worse than having to work with your much younger co-star for whom you are still head over heels would be having to work with him after he’s made you fall in love with him and then left you. And Matt would have—he would have left her or even worse, he _wouldn’t_ have left her; he would have stayed out of guilt or some reluctance to confirm her fears, but would have wanted to leave. She could never bear that, not from him.

Alex knows she would have been little more than a novelty for a young man like Matt, and while she didn’t expressly mind that in theory, in practice she found it just a little too hard to swallow. So she’d done the only thing she could do: she ran. She ran, and she kept her distance as best she could, and she’d thought she’d gotten over it, or at the very least thought she’d made some kind of progress to that end. But as it turns out, seeing him in person again confirmed that she hadn’t, actually, gotten anywhere, least of all over him.

Maybe that’s all the more reason she shouldn’t flirt with him shamelessly like she used to – maybe it’s the last thing her heart needs, but it’s all it wants when she sees him: some sense of normalcy, some way to pretend that she’d made a different decision. That she had that courage.

So she’s not entirely sure whether the voice she’s been hearing since she got to LA is the voice of her subconscious or her heart—either way, she wishes it would bloody well shut up. Because Matt is _happy_ now.

Alex’s heart drops to her stomach as she watches Deni snake her arm around him and pull his body against hers, but Alex can’t look away, even though that’s the only thing she desperately wants to do. She doesn’t want to see this, even though it’s exactly what Alex wanted for him all those years ago. Matt has things now that he never would have had with her—things he could never have had with her; and she will learn to be okay with that, eventually. Because she has to. She just can’t put her heart through any of this again.

Besides, _Matt is happy now_ , Alex reminds herself again, as she watches Deni slip out of his embrace, wipe her lips with the back of her hand, and walk seductively back across the soundstage. He’s happy now, and no matter what feelings have resurfaced upon seeing him again, Alex knows she must keep them to herself. His future is bright, now, and she won’t ruin that because Matt deserves everything he can have with someone who isn’t _her_ and because _he is happy_ – and if Alex repeats these things enough times to herself, she thinks the recitations might prevent her from saying things she gave up the right to say four years ago.

Things she never even had the right to say in the first place.

And if Matt looks strangely guilty as he heads towards craft services, Alex will have to ignore it. It couldn’t mean what she hoped it meant, anyway, and she’d spent quite enough of her life being crushed under the impossible weight of her stupid heart’s unrealistic hopes and dreams.

She’s examining the lid on her paper cup of tea, her finger idly tracing her own lipstick mark, when she feels a weight jostle the chair next to her. When she brings her gaze up, she sees Jack sitting there, watching her with a small smile on his face.

“Penny for your thoughts?” His voice is strangely gentle, and it feels unexpectedly soothing to her.

Alex smiles, “Wouldn’t even be worth that much, I’m afraid.”

“Ah,” Jack smiles gently at her, “Contemplating why whomever invented those coffee cup lids made that hole for drinking so dreadfully small and misshapen, then?”

Alex laughs despite herself, “Mm,” She nods, “Something like that.”

“Probably invented by a man.” At her look, Jack chuckles, “One of my mother’s favorite explanations for completely useless or wrong things.”

Alex snorts, “I may have to steal that.”

Jack grins, bringing the straw of his iced coffee to his lips, “Feel free.” He shrugs, “Anyway, you looked _very_ deep in thought.”

Alex turns her head to look at him—he’s wearing his costume, a pair of fitted jeans and a button-down shirt that stretches across his broad chest. His hair has a bit of product in it but is otherwise a bit unkempt which works very well on him; she can’t help but notice that Jack makes the salt and pepper look very appealing. Stubble dots his jaw, and Alex thinks in another life, he maybe could have been a lumberjack, or at least a model for a lumberjack calendar. His blue eyes stare directly into hers, and she shifts a little in her seat.

“A bit strange being back on set, I suppose.” Alex hedges; it’s true enough that it doesn’t sound like a complete lie.

Jack nods, swirling the ice around in his plastic coffee cup, “Ah. You’ve been doing mostly theater these days, yeah?”

Alex nods, “Yeah.” She traces her finger around the lid of her tea again, “Kind of wondered if I’d end up staying there. It’s a very different energy to all of this.” She lets her eyes briefly drift around set before returning her gaze to Jack.

“Well,” Jack turns in the chair to face her a bit more, “You’re brilliant at both.” At her look of curiosity, he smiles, “I caught you on stage when I was home last Christmas.”

Alex tilts her head, “The Children’s Hour?”

He nods, “I went with my sister. Brilliant. You carried the show.”

Alex chuckles, feeling a light blush start to creep up her cheeks—she’s never been one to take compliments well, frequently using some sort of self deprecating remark to keep from taking it too seriously. She looks at Jack, considering him. Finding him earnest and genuine enough, she smiles.

“Well. Thank you.” She brings the tea to her lips intending to take a sip, but the way that Jack is watching her makes her pause. His gaze feels appreciative, and she surprisingly finds that it’s not as unwelcome as she might have thought.

Jack shrugs, “No need to thank me for the truth, Ms. Kingston.”

She rolls her eyes, “ _Alex_ , please.”

Jack grins as Maggie, summoned by a PA, makes her way over to them, then begins fussing with Jack’s hair, heaving sighs as she pulls and pushes pieces into place.

“Alex.” He repeats as he sets his near-empty iced coffee on the table next to him, “I’m looking very forward to working with you.”

Alex smiles, and notices Maggie watching their interaction carefully. Always keen to know as much as possible about who she’s working with, Alex had seen some of Jack’s work, and she’d been impressed by the ease with which he shifts into characters in the shows she’d seen him in, their mannerisms and personalities varied. That wasn’t always easy to do, especially in television, and it had left Alex with a genuine respect for Jack’s acting abilities.

“And I’m looking very forward to working with you, Jack.” She isn’t lying, either. It was always a pleasure for her to work with talented actors—she’d always found that working with a _good_ actor really elevated her skill and performance; good actors challenged her in scenes in ways mediocre actors—and she had worked with a few, particularly in her early days—simply couldn’t.

Jack smiles at her, and she notices how his eyes crinkle at the sides; she can tell he is genuinely pleased by her compliment. “I was wondering… would you maybe…” He trails off, lowering his voice, despite the fact that Maggie is hovering right over his shoulder and can hear every word no matter how quietly he speaks, “Would you like to maybe grab dinner with me?” He finishes, and then looks at Alex, fidgeting a bit with the arm of the chair he’s sitting in.

_He’s nervous_ , this good-looking man who’s just asked her out, and she can’t help but find it all rather endearing, not to mention flattering. Still, she purses her lips—it’s not a good idea for more reasons than one. She has to let him down gently.

“Jack, I…”

“Jack!” Daniel’s voice cuts through as he barrels through the set, full-speed. “I wanted to go over some stage directions with you before your next scene.” Daniel indicates the other side of the soundstage, then waits for Jack to stand.

Jack rises from his seat as Daniel turns to walk across the studio. Jack turns to look at Alex, his blue eyes bright, “Just… think about it, Alex, _before_ you say no.” He grins at her.

Alex bites back a smile—he’d been able to read her, apparently. She nods once, and watches as he turns on his heel following quickly after Daniel who is halfway across the soundstage already. Alex watches them walk, then turns her attention to craft services, where she sees Matt casually chatting with the girl who runs the table—except he’s not looking at her; instead, he’s looking directly at Alex.

Alex averts her gaze, only to see Maggie staring at her, her eyes belying her curiosity.

Maggie inclines her head to where Jack stands now across the soundstage, animatedly talking to Daniel. “He’s a good egg.” Maggie says, still watching Alex.

Alex feels a bit unnerved by Maggie’s intense gaze, “No, I’m – I’m sure he is, I just…” Alex trails off, casting a quick glance at Matt again before she looks back at Maggie.

Maggie raises her eyebrows and then turns her head over her shoulder to craft services, where Matt is still standing, looking their direction, right at Alex; Maggie turns back to Alex. “Ah,” Maggie says, knowingly, and with a wink.

Alex winces, “No, it’s not—we’re not, it’s not…” she fumbles, and she presses her eyes shut in mortification, cursing herself for her inability to find words to explain whatever she and Matt are and aren’t. As though she even _has_ a clear definition of what they are and aren’t.

Maggie raises her hands in front of her, “Not my business, hon.”

Alex smirks at her then, some of the mortification fading, though she can still feel it humming in her blood, “You’re a makeup artist. Isn’t all of it your business?”

Maggie laughs warmly, “Usually. And Lord knows I do love me a bit of good gossip, but don’t you worry your pretty curly little head, hon,” She grins, “When I like someone, I keep it to myself.” She taps the side of her nose conspiratorially.

Alex gives Maggie a grateful smile. The last thing she needs is to be the subject of more rumor and conjecture; she’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Maggie holds her hands out in front of her with a heavy sigh, “I’m just saying—I know nothing, and you’re a grown woman. _But_ if you were wondering. Jack is a good egg.” Maggie smiles, “Do with that what you will, darlin’.” With that, Maggie spins on her heels and heads back in the direction of the makeup room, whistling quietly as she goes.

After Maggie is gone, Alex situates herself back into the chair, focusing on her tea. She takes a sip of it; it’s stone cold and tastes terrible now, but it doesn’t matter. She lets her mind wander to Jack as the cold tea hits her tongue. He seems like a nice guy, and Maggie honestly doesn’t seem like the type of woman to give her endorsement easily.

Alex has never really considered herself to be a woman with a usual type, she’d always quite been of the assessment that she could fall in love or lust with anyone, but she can admit that objectively speaking, Jack _is_ a handsome man. A very handsome man, in fact. A very handsome man who is apparently interested in _her_.

She sighs, glancing up at craft services where Matt is now animatedly talking with what appears to be a background actor. Alex smiles, watching the way his limbs flail about as he gesticulates wildly, and she feels a sharp pinch in her chest; when Matt tips his head back and laughs heartily at something the other man has said, the pinch morphs into a dull ache.

Before coming back to LA, she thought she’d gotten rid of that ache; she thought she’d put her feelings for Matt in a tidy box tucked away in the corner of her mind, but the ache blooming in her chest now says differently.

But Matt is _with_ someone now—he’s moved on and has the world at his feet. And in four years, Alex hasn’t really given anyone a solid chance; she’d only been on a handful of dates with perfectly acceptable and attractive men, but she had dismissed anything serious with any of them for one reason or another. She realizes now why she’d done that. She knows now that no one ever stood a chance because there had always been a faint hope clawing at the back of her mind—the faint hope that she’d still somehow end up with Matt.

She’d quietly hoped for that for years, despite the fact that she’s the one who set them down this path in the first place. But Matt is _with someone now_ , and maybe that faint hope, even at the back of her mind, had been entirely misplaced. Maybe it’s time for her to let it go.

Maybe she _would_ go out with Jack. Maybe she _should_. Maybe she could heal, then, from this gaping wound she’d given herself the morning she walked out on Matt Smith and everything he might have promised her in the moment; the wound that widened when she stopped the words falling from Matt’s lips—the ones that might have changed everything, but only for a little while. Which is why she couldn’t bear to have heard them in the first place.

The rest of the day passes in a blur; Alex films a small scene by herself, and spends the rest of the day closed off in her trailer, reading over her lines for tomorrow’s scene. She reclines on the couch, enjoying the comfort that LA trailers provide—they’re always so _nice_ inside, especially compared to the trailers from her last few British projects. When she filmed ER in the states, she took the posh trailers a bit for granted—but having been without for so long, they’re much easier to appreciate now.

As the filming day drags to a close, Alex pointedly ignores the bundle of nerves that has settled itself in her stomach at the prospect of where she’ll be headed after the day wraps. But, she can only ignore it for so long, because as the sun begins its descent in the sky, she knows any minute she’ll be caravanning to a house in the hills of Hollywood with Matt Smith, his young and pretty girlfriend, an attractive man who just asked her out, and a few other cast members; once they get there, they’ll be staying until the end of filming.

On the way over to the house, luck—or _un-luck_ in her case—has her in the same van as Matt, Deni, and Jack, while Daniel rides in the front with the driver. Alex stares out the window as the van climbs up, up, up into the hills, passing various lookout points that survey the city she once called home; she did it from these very hills, in fact.

Her only saving grace in this awkward moment now is that Matt and Deni are seated in the row behind her, so she can’t see them, and _thank god for small favors_ , she guesses. Daniel and Jack make most of the conversation in the van, and Alex is glad of that since it allows her eyes to remain fixed directly out the window as the scenery rolls by. She only needs to give an occasional answer or nod of her head, as though she is listening.

Daniel is mid-story to the driver and the rest of the van when Jack leans over to her.

“Alright?” Jack asks, his voice a quiet murmur near her ear.

It startles Alex a bit, since she’d been lost in thought, and she jumps a little before turning her head to smile at him, “Mm, fine.” She nods.

“Still jet-lagged?” He asks, and Alex is surprised to note the concern in his eyes and his voice—she hadn’t been expecting that.

“A bit.” Alex lies. She’d done the time zone adjustment for _years_ , she was so used to it that it hardly affected her anymore; besides which, being utterly exhausted on her first day had staved off any potential adjustment period she may have needed.

She isn’t _that_ kind of tired.

Jack nods, then murmurs something about resting up tonight, before he turns back to listen to Daniel’s story and Alex goes back to watching the brown hillside, dotted with houses and green trees that roll by the higher they climb into the hills. She resists every single urge she has to look back at Matt, and she certainly has a lot of them.

Just as the sun disappears in the distance, the van pulls into a gated driveway and a white modern house comes into view. It’s nestled into the hillside, the back of the house overlooking the city, and it’s not exactly to Alex’s taste, but it is big and beautiful and, she knows, _expensive_. When the van door slides open, she climbs out, accepting Jack’s help as he guides her by her elbow onto the pavement. She steps away from the van into the circular driveway, and stares at the front of the house, absolutely refusing to turn and watch Matt and Deni get out of the van. When Jack rolls her suitcase over to her, Alex smiles at him gratefully and thanks him.

Daniel surveys the house, looking pleased as the second van pulls up carrying three supporting cast members who will also be staying with them until filming wraps. As the new arrivals pile out of their van to stand in the cool LA evening, Daniel smiles.

“Welcome, everyone!” Daniel spreads his hands out in front of him, “To your humble abode for these next few weeks.”

As they file into the house, Jack helps Alex lift her suitcase up the stairs of the porch and into the tiled foyer, where everyone sets their luggage. A huge chandelier hangs over the middle of the entryway, it’s lights dim and still brilliant in the evening light.

Everyone gathers in the foyer, and for the first time since they left the soundstage, Alex’s eyes alight on Matt where he stands next to Deni, almost directly across from Alex in the semi-circle the cast has formed around Daniel. Matt is looking at Daniel, but suddenly, Matt’s eyes dart to her, and they make eye contact for a split second before her eyes focus back on Daniel, who’s checking his phone with a finger held up indicating that he will be with everyone in just a moment.

Alex’s eyes look around the foyer, taking in the decorative aspects—while it’s not her usual style mixing modern and old, she can still appreciate the clean lines and modern décor. It’s a beautiful house, spacious and lovely if the outside is anything to go by, but she still can’t help but think how unconventional this arrangement is, _and_ how utterly ridiculous.

Alex should be exempt from this, she thinks; there should be some _age_ at which one ages out of things like this, and she should be very well past it by now. Something like this in her youth would have been an adventure, would have been met with excitement and enthusiasm, no matter who else was staying in the house; now it just feels like an anxiety-ridden mess, a disaster waiting to happen.

She sighs, wondering if she should bring it up with her agent, see if she could opt out of the living arrangements now. Even as the idea charges through her head, she knows it wouldn’t work—she’d agreed to this initially, and it had been written into her contract. She quite liked the part she was playing, and truthfully, she’d never been one to cause problems—backing out of the project now would cause too many changes, cost too much money, and she knew as uncomfortable as this situation was undoubtedly going to be, she just couldn’t bring herself to do _that_.

Daniel slides his phone into his front pocket, whispers to a PA standing by, and then turns to look at the cast, smiling. “Thank you all for agreeing to my rather _unorthodox_ measures.” He shoots a grin at Alex, as though he knows she has her doubts and reticence, and she purses her lips in an amused smile, because as odd as he is, Alex _likes_ Daniel, “This will be your home until we’re done filming. And I promise I won’t ask _too_ much of you. You’ll find the house rules pretty lax, and the liquor cabinet pretty open and fully-stocked.”

The PA comes back clutching a bottle of champagne. Daniel retrieves it and pops it open, the sound echoing off the walls in the foyer. He turns behind him and pours it into glasses set up on a decorative table pushed against the wall. When he’s done, the PA begins distributing them to everyone.

Alex takes hers, grateful. She quite enjoys drinking champagne—wine, much as she loves it, often makes her weepy. It makes her too emotional for her own good. She’s had a difficult time cataloguing the emotions she’s been going through since her arrival, but she knows with certainty that she doesn’t need to ingest _anything_ that will make her more emotional. That’s about the second to last thing she needs. The last, of course, being sharing a house for _weeks_ with Matt and his girlfriend.

No, wine emotions are _not_ what she needs right now. Champagne, for whatever reason, has almost the opposite effect of wine for Alex—it allows her to be happy despite almost any circumstance. As Daniel silently raises his glass and the rest of the cast begins to drink from their flutes, Alex follows suit, enjoying the taste of the moderately expensive champagne and delighting as the bubbles dance across her tongue. See? She feels happier already.

Daniel smiles, polishing off the rest of his champagne with a flourish before he speaks again, “I’ve got some bonding exercises and games that I expect you all to do. I learned them from a pair of monks in the hillsides of Tibet.” Daniel looks serious for a moment, letting the information sink in, “Nah, I’m just kidding. But they _are_ mandatory, and I’ve had my assistant put together a schedule and some instructions, which you can find in various places around this house.” He wags a finger at all of them, “You’re to stick to it – there’s a method to my madness.” He grins, “Least I think there is. Aside from the exercises, and actually sleeping and waking here five days a week, you’re free to come and go as you please.” He claps his hands together, “Alright – names are on the doors to your rooms. Matt, Deni,” He looks at them, “I have you two together since, you know, this is a _thing_ now; everyone else, you’ve got your own room. Please stick to them, there was a method to that madness as well. Least I think there was.” Daniel opens the door to the house, “Dinner will be here soon, and I’ll see everyone on set tomorrow, where I expect you to be at least slightly less hungover than I am.”

Daniel waves and departs the foyer, closing the heavy door of the house behind him. Everyone starts to move, excitedly looking for whatever room bears their name before eventually heading out to see _the pool_ , but Alex feels rooted to the spot. She hadn’t honestly though this situation could get any worse—but as it turns out, it could. Not _only_ will she be living with Matt and his girlfriend. Oh, no, that apparently would have made things all too easy. Matt and Deni would be _sharing a bloody room_.

She’d never thought she did anything particularly bad to allow fate to be so cross with her, but clearly there was something in her past she was forgetting. Maybe this is a past life catching up with her; maybe she needs to pay a visit to The Psychic Eye and pick up some crystals, just in case.

A gentle touch on her forearm brings her out of her rapid-fire cataloguing of every remotely evil thing she’s ever done or even considered doing in her life, and she turns to see Jack looking at her.

“Bit weird, isn’t it?”

Alex nods, “To say the least.” She smiles, “When I was younger, I would have _loved_ something as camp and ridiculous as this.”

Jack snorts his agreement, “Tell me about it. Nowadays all I want is my house and a porch swing so I can tell all the kids in the neighborhood to get off my lawn!” He grins, “Somehow not _quite_ as effective in a British accent.” He shrugs, “Shall we?” Jack asks, indicating the archway leading out of the foyer through which everyone else has already disappeared. He puts his hand on the handle of her suitcase, smiling.

Alex nods again, feeling rather thankful for Jack’s attention. She’s not sure she could do this alone. She clutches the strap of her purse tightly as Jack wheels her suitcase through the foyer. She hadn’t _needed_ a man in a very long time—not since she truly learned what needing a man could cost her, at any rate, but she’d forgotten how nice it was sometimes to _have_ one. Not that she couldn’t roll her suitcase through a foyer of a mansion in the Hollywood hills herself, but sometimes she just didn’t bloody _want_ to.

Names are posted on the doors with fancy placards in cursive writing. They move past one name, two names, three names— _Sabrina_ , _Doug, Andres_ —then move to the other side of the house, the one facing out, overlooking the city below.

Jack sees his name on the first door they come across, and drops his duffle bag at his door, smiling. “This is me.” He hooks his thumb at the door, but continues rolling her suitcase past his door, clearly searching for hers, “Ah.” He stops, looking at the door next to his, “Neighbors, then.”

Alex smiles, reaching out to take her suitcase handle from him, “Looks that way.” Just then, the door on the other side of Alex’s room opens, and Alex glances up to see Deni & Matt exiting the room, Deni clutching her flute of champagne.

“Come _on_ , babe,” She whines, clutching Matt’s arm, “Let’s go see the pool!”

Matt is smiling a bit tightly, but then he turns his head to see Alex and his face falls. He looks at her helplessly, trying to communicate something to her with his eyes, but her heart is too far down in her stomach to read whatever it is he’s trying to say. Deni is staring at him, and then follows his gaze to Alex.

“Oh, look at that!” She says, her voice saccharine, “We’re _neighbors_!” She takes a hearty sip of her champagne, then leans over Matt to stage whisper to Alex, “Don’t worry, _mum_ ,” She winks, then pats Matt on the chest, “I’ll make sure he keeps it down.”

Matt turns red immediately, the color suffusing his cheeks as he looks around helplessly; finally, his mouth drops open and he stares at Deni.

“Oh, _honey_ ,” Alex leans forward a bit like she’s telling a secret, just as Deni had, “That _is_ a shame.” At Deni’s confused expression, Alex smirks and her voice drops low, “I’ve come to find that men are usually physically incapable of _keeping it down_ around _me_.”

Deni’s jaw drops open and Matt laughs, though he flushes again. She sees the amusement sparkling in his eyes just as well as she sees the anger sparking in Deni’s. Alex raises her eyebrows, a slow smile spreading across her face. Deni narrows her eyes and glares at Alex. When the girl opens her mouth to say something venomous, no doubt, Matt interjects.

“Pool, then?” Matt is talking to Deni, but looking directly at Alex, amusement still playing on his face as a smile still pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Deni glares once more at Alex, then huffs, downs the rest of her champagne and nods, leading Matt by the arm as he glances back over his shoulder at Alex. He shakes his head, still slightly red from her comment and the whole exchange; he smiles brightly before they disappear around the corner that leads down the stairs and out to the backyard.

When Alex turns back to the door of her room, she sees Jack watching her with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

She arches a brow at him, “What?”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling, “Nothing. I just find you _fascinating_.”

Alex smiles, “There are worse things to be found, I suppose.”

Jack nods, then turns back to his room, “See you at dinner, then, _Alex_.” He calls over his shoulder just as he disappears inside his room.

Alex opens her door and wheels her suitcase in. The room is sparsely decorated, clean, with an amazing picturesque window overlooking the city—it is the epitome of a _room with a view_ , and it suddenly makes her feel just a _bit_ better about having to endure this situation.

She unpacks her things, sends a text to her daughter, and then lies on the bed, kicking her shoes off as she presses her back into the soft mattress where she stays until the catered dinner arrives.

Dinner itself passes quickly enough, and she finds herself seated next to Jack on the opposite end of the very long table from Matt and Deni, which is just fine by her. She’s had enough awkward moments to last her three lifetimes, and there would surely be more to come in this house—no need usher them along any faster.

Their three supporting castmates along with a few PAs sit around the table, engaging in boisterous conversation. All three members of the supporting cast, Sabrina, Doug, and Andres are young, friendly, and have become fast friends. The ease with which they interact reminds Alex a bit of Arthur, Karen, and Matt during their time on _Who_ , and it makes her smile.

As dinner progresses, Alex finds that Jack is rather funny—she hadn’t expected that, really. She hadn’t been able to tell at lunch; too preoccupied was she with _other things_. She spends _this_ meal, however, drinking champagne and _laughing,_ her head tilted back as Jack regales her with funny tales from the set of his last show, and she pays him in kind with stories of pranks she pulled during her time on ER, even throwing in one or two of Clooney’s, which she usually likes to keep to herself.

Every time Alex glances at Matt during dinner, she finds him looking at her, and she tries to ignore the little hope that swells in her chest at the realization. She tries to focus on Jack, on what he’s saying, and maybe she’s trying a little too hard, leaning in a little too close, because she can’t hear what he’s saying over her heart beating so quickly and loudly in her ears knowing that Matt is at the other end of the table, knowing that Matt is watching her.

When everyone is done and Alex is three glasses of champagne in, one of the PAs stands from the table, and pulls a card out from a little envelope. He looks a little nervous as he calls everyone’s attention, and even more nervous when the chattering finally stops and everyone stares at him.

“Alright, everyone—first ‘Tibetan Monk Bonding Ritual’” The PA pauses, “Sorry, Daniel made me call them that.” He laughs uncomfortably, “Anyway, it’s going to be right now – in the living room. A very short one this evening.”

“Do we _really_ have to do these?” Deni asks, batting her eyes at the young PA, “I have ADR later tonight—only time I could fit it in—and—do we _really_?”

The PA looks at her, a bit stunned, “Um, uh… I…” He stammers, gripping the index card nervously in his hand.

Jack, sitting nearest to the frightened PA, stands up, claps him on the back, and takes the card from the younger man’s trembling hands.

“Yes,” Jack says, “Because rules are rules, and a director is a director, even when we’re not on set.” He taps the card against his fingers, and then turns to the PA, “I’ll facilitate this one.”

The PA simply nods while Jack proceeds to corral everyone into the living room. Alex pours a fourth glass of champagne, but she tells herself she’s not really going to drink it—those first three have done quite enough damage, she thinks, because she’s feeling pretty giddy—so giddy, in fact, that the idea of playing an icebreaker game with a bunch of strangers along with Matt and his girlfriend only makes her a _little_ nauseated.

That’s progress.

The living room is dimly lit, and the furniture keeps clean lines, but still manages to be plush. Alex situates herself in a rather fluffy white chair, while Doug, Sabrina, and Andres share one end of the sectional sofa and Matt and Deni share the smaller portion of the sofa. Jack sits down next to Alex in a chair that matches her own.

“Alright,” Jack says, fishing his glasses out of his pocket and sliding them on the bridge of his nose, “Bonding 101, I suppose. Though I draw the line at repeating that Tibetan Monk rubbish.” He grins at Alex as she laughs. He drops his eyes back down to the card, reading ahead. When he’s read the card, he looks back at the group, “Okay – tonight’s activity is apparently two questions to be answered in succession: What’s the single best thing that’s ever happened to you? And what’s the single worst thing that’s ever happened to you? Any order.” Jack slips his reading glasses off his nose, folds them, and tucks them back in his shirt pocket, “So a bit of levity for the evening, then.” He jokes, then looks at the room again. “Right, okay. The young ones first. Not sure you’ll be able to handle the wisdom handed to you from this side of the room.” Jack looks at the sectional sofa expectantly.

Andres starts off, followed by Sabrina, then Doug—they give pretty perfunctory answers for their best moments, no one delving too deep, but still sharing _something_ personal of the worst: a death of a family member, being bullied at school, finding out a sibling has a degenerative disease. It’s moving, listening to the way they open themselves up to strangers.

As she listens, Alex feels herself growing more nervous—she’s always been quite a private person. This exercise is pretty far outside of her comfort zone, but she tries to listen to her castmates as they speak instead of attempting to formulate her own answers so she can be prepared when her time comes.

After Doug is finished, Jack looks at Deni, and she giggles, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Oh, me?” She asks and at Jack’s nod, she smiles, “Okay, well. The _best thing_ that ever happened to me was getting cast in this show. Because it’s a great part, for sure, _but_ ,” She says, smiling, “It’s also where I met _Matty_. And that’s really why.” She nudges her shoulder into Matt, “And the _worst_ thing that’s ever happened to me…” She trails off, thinking. “Is my dad—sometimes, when I was little, my dad would make promises he couldn’t keep. Like one time he said I could have a puppy for my birthday, but I never got one. And another time, he told me he would buy me Spice World when it came out, and he never did.”

When she finishes, the room sits in a kind of stunned silence for a moment, and Matt looks uncomfortable and vaguely embarrassed as Deni, clearly satisfied with her answers, whips out her phone and starts scrolling through it.

“Okay, well. Thanks for… sharing, Deni.” Jack says dryly, and Alex bites her lip to hide a smile before Jack turns his gaze to Matt, “Tough one to follow, I know – but you can _try_ , Matt.”

Matt clears his throat, then shifts a bit in his seat, “Right, okay. My best moment—was landing on my feet, I guess. See, I used to play football—had a real shot at going pro, actually—but then I hurt me back, and my career disappeared right before my eyes. And that injury, the one that made me so upset and angry and _scared_ brought me down this path; so, something I thought was the _worst thing_ to ever happen to me at the time, turned out to be the best, actually. I never expected to get that lucky, and I don’t think I will again.” He looks pensive, “My worst thing won’t fix itself again, I think.”

“And what is it, then?” Jack prompts, after a moment of silence during which Matt picks at the hole in the knee of his jeans, “What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you?”

Matt shrugs, “Easy.” He clears his throat, still looking at the hole in his jeans, playing with the frayed edges, “The worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” His eyes snap up suddenly, and he glances around the room before his eyes land directly on Alex, “Is watching someone walk away from me when the _only thing_ I wanted was for that person to _stay_. That door closing, the echo of it in my tiny flat, the sound of what I wanted disappearing, that goodbye… _that_ is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. By far.”

Matt’s gaze burns into Alex’s, and she feels her heart slam in her chest—she wants to look away from him, to look at anyone else in the room, but its eerily silent, and she can’t tear her eyes away from him. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t this; it certainly wasn’t the words that fell from his lips.

_She_ is the worst thing that ever happened to him. It’s not how he meant it, she knows—she _knows_ that—but it’s all she can hear, the guilt ripping at her from the inside, clenching around her heart. She is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, and how can she forgive herself, when he is one of the best things to ever happen to her? Even now, even still?

Alex feels the tears burning her eyes and the blood is rushing so loudly in her head that she doesn’t hear her name being called until it has been three times.

“Alex?” It’s Jack’s voice, and Alex turns her head to look at him, her eyes still watery, her head still swimming.

It’s her turn. She has to speak now—she has to find the words and make sure they make it past her lips and out into the air. She laughs a little nervously, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

“Right.” She clears her throat, the best thing is easy, the best thing can be the truth, no question, “The single best thing that ever happened to me is my daughter. There were days I thought I’d never have her, and then I did—that day is and always will be the best day of my life; and I _know_ she is the best thing I’ve done with it. She’s the beginning and end of who I am.”

Alex glances at Jack, since he’s the one technically asking the questions tonight, and he’s wearing a fond smile; after a moment, he prompts, his tone gentle, “And the worst?”

She’s delaying the inevitable, she knows. She hates dwelling on the bad things that have happened in her life, and lord there have been a few. She considers lying—telling an outright lie; there are any number of things she could say that a quick Google search of herself would confirm as plausible. And it’s not far from the truth, the lie she could tell. In fact, ask her twenty years ago, and her ex-husband’s name would have fallen from her lips—or some epithet otherwise synonymous with his name, more like. And it’s tempting to use him now, the one thing he might still be good for, until she looks at Matt.

Matt is watching her carefully, his head turned slightly to the side as he sits across from her. He’s wearing jeans, a band t-shirt, well-worn boots, and his heart on his sleeve, damn him.

Matt has always been braver than she is; he was braver than her back then, she knows, _so much braver_.

Before she can tell the lie, she thinks about the Pacific Ocean crashing into the sand yesterday—she thinks about the stone that sand might someday become. She thinks about Matt that morning so long ago, the way he looked when they woke up together, hopeful and longing, but still like he knew it couldn’t last, that it _wouldn’t_. She thinks of how Matt looked when she left, how he stood in the doorway watching, helpless, but so ready to tell the truth, if she’d let him. She thinks of Matt when she first met him, eager and sweet, and this time she chooses the truth—part of it, anyway.

Alex drops her gaze to a spot on the hardwood floor—she can’t say this and look at him; she can’t say this and look at anyone. “The worst thing that’s ever happened to me is something I did to myself.” She shakes her head sadly, “Something I _still_ do to myself. I allow the bad things that have happened to me to prevent the good things from happening—I… let the bad take up so much of me that sometimes there’s no room for the good; the good can’t get in. It’s made me miss out on some…” She clears her throat, “On some pretty special things, I think.” Alex presses her back into the chair, smiling wryly before she turns to look at Jack, who is watching her curiously, his attention rapt. She raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders a bit, indicating she’s finally done.

Jack opens his mouth and starts to speak, “Well, that – ”

Deni interrupts him from the other side of the room, “Interesting.” She says, quietly, but loud enough to be heard. “That’s not what I’d have thought _yours_ would be.”

The room falls silent, and Alex turns to look at Deni; she’s sitting on the couch next to Matt, whose head has snapped to look directly at his girlfriend. Alex doesn’t look at Matt’s face, but she can make out his disbelief in her peripheral. Deni has an innocent look on her face, like she can’t believe she said the words out loud. It’s a look that Alex doesn’t buy for a single second.

Nearly four glasses of champagne in now, Alex is keen to play Deni’s little game, whatever that may be, “Oh, really?” She mimics Deni’s innocent tone, “What would you have thought, then?” She asks, eyebrow arched as she crosses her arms over her chest.

Deni shrugs a little, but a rather sinister smirk spreads across her face—others might take it for embarrassment, but Alex can see right through it; she sees it for what it is.

Alex smirks in response, “Oh,” Alex draws the word out, as though realization is just now dawning on her, “You would have thought it was when my first husband told me he was leaving me for another woman? How, when it happened, I was so despondent I nearly became suicidal?” Alex smiles sweetly, though Deni has the good grace at least to blush—clearly the girl hadn’t expected Alex to call her out like this, “No, dear, though I do thank you for your obvious _concern_.”

Deni glares at Alex, seething from across the room. Alex merely smiles, then picks up her glass of champagne and takes a sip. She glances at Matt, who is staring at Deni wide-eyed, his face a bit red.

Jack clears his throat, obviously biting back a smile as he looks at Alex. She grins at him, and he shakes his head, finally letting the smile break across his face.

“Well. That’s my turn, then.”

Jack shares his rather poignant stories, and then declares an end to “their first official over-share.” Andres, Sabrina, and Doug stay seated on the couch, turning to each other to talk quietly. Alex stands immediately, heading through the kitchen and out on to the deck overlooking the backyard. As Alex closes the screen door behind her nearly all the way, she sees Deni stand, hears her say something about ADR before she disappears through the foyer, the slam of the door echoing in the tiled space.

Alex steps further out onto the deck until she’s right against the edge of the balcony. A chill hangs in the night air and she pulls her cardigan tighter around herself, resting her forearms on the wall of the balcony, staring through the glass partition that sits about three feet above the wall. The city lights twinkle below, and Alex watches them glow in the dark Los Angeles night.

How many times had she watched the city like this, in her own home here, right before bed? She couldn’t even begin to count. Back then, she’d stare at the city transfixed as she wondered what story each light had to tell—what sad things they would say, what joyful ones. Before she went to bed each night, she’d whisper to the city, telling it her secrets.

She wants to do that tonight, now, but it has been too long, and there are too many to tell. And it won’t fix her problems, she knows, not like it did back in the days of her youth.

Alex hears a small sound from inside the house, and just like yesterday, she doesn’t have to look to know who it is. She presses her eyes shut, bracing herself as she hears the screen door open. Maybe she won’t need to tell the city her secrets tonight.

x

“Well, hello _neighbor_.”

Alex’s voice cuts through the night and Matt smiles to himself as he slides the screen door closed behind him.

He chuckles, “How’d you know it was me?”

She doesn’t turn around, but he sees her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, “Darling, I always know when it’s you.”

Matt leans against the wall of the house, right outside the screen door and watches her. She’s wearing jeans and another one of those peasant tops she’s so fond of with a thick cardigan over the top, her hair down and falling just below her shoulders. He’s always liked it this length.

He clears his throat, “I don’t know what that was back there with…” Matt trails off, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of saying Deni’s name to Alex. Like if he doesn’t say it, he can pretend she doesn’t exist.

Alex turns to face him then, a small smile on her face. The city is behind her, its lights shining and brilliant; from up here in the hills, you can see the entire city, expansive and huge, and no matter how many times he’s seen it from a lookout on Mulholland, the sight continually stuns him.

But it doesn’t stun him nearly as much as the woman in front of him currently backlit by the city—she _is_ beauty; she is every poem he’s ever read, and he hates himself a bit for still thinking about her like that, for romanticizing her so thoroughly, but he can’t help it. He’d meant the words he almost said years ago, words he would have said but for her fingers on his lips, and god help him, he means them now.

Alex moves to the corner of the balcony, then turns to face him—she puts her hands behind her and hoists herself up on the edge of the wall, the glass partition at her back the only thing between her and the deck far down below.

The sight makes Matt nervous, “Alex, be careful.” He warns, “I don’t want you to fall.”

“Tried careful once,” Alex smiles at him a bit sadly, then turns her head to peer over the edge of the glass partition, “And with no TARDIS to catch me this time.” She turns back to face him and at his stern look, she laughs, “Darling, it’s fine.” She smirks, letting a bit of seduction find its way into her face as she presses her weight against the partition, testing its durability experimentally, “We could probably shag right up against it and it’d be no worse for the wear.”

Matt chokes on air, the images coming unbidden—or quite bidden, really—Alex’s naked breasts pressed up against that glass partition as he moves behind her, one hand roughly pulling her head back by her curls as his mouth works her neck, his other hand digging into her hipbone, steadying her against his hard thrusts.

He closes his eyes, but that makes it worse, so he forces them open again to find Alex looking at him with amusement.

“ _God_ , Alex.” He says, shaking his head as a smile spreads slowly across his face.

She chuckles, shrugging, “Sorry, darling.”

He barks out a laugh, “You’re not.”

She eyes him and purses her lips, grinning, “You’re right, I’m not.” She sighs, “Not for that, anyway.”

Matt swallows thickly, watching her—she looks sad, but guarded in a way he can’t really explain. He doesn’t even know what to _do_ with this anymore, this thing between them. It’s always been a push-pull, but it’s been all push these last few years, and it leaves him a little unsteady when it comes to dealing with the pull now.

Matt sighs, running one hand through his hair. _Right. Change the subject_. “Kazza said to tell you hi.”

The sadness disappears from Alex’s eyes, and a genuine smile lights up her face, “Oh, how is she?”

Matt smiles, “She’s good, yeah. Busy, but good.” He tilts his head in question, “You don’t keep in touch with Karen and Darvill?”

Alex shrugs, “A bit,” She tucks a curl behind her ear, “Not as much as I’d like, mind you. Arthur and I saw a play a few months back.” She smiles at the memory.

Matt clicks his tongue, “Yeah. Heard that…” He laughs lightly as a breeze moves through his hair, “I was always a bit jealous, you know.”

She stares at him, “You never said.”

He shakes his head slowly, “No, I never did.” He taps his foot against the wall, “Always thought he fancied you a bit, though.”

Alex rolls her eyes, “Oh, please.” When he just raises his eyebrows at her, she laughs, “Don’t be ridiculous, Matt.”

He dips his head a little, catching her gaze. “Oh, come on. Everyone fancies you at least a _bit_ , Alex.”

Alex snorts in disbelief, eyeing him pointedly, “Not _everyone_.”

Matt chuckles a bit, shrugging his shoulders in slight agreement. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, “Yeah, well. She’s jealous.” He states, simply.

Alex raises her eyebrows at that, “What, of me?”

Matt smiles, his eyes dragging first up and then down her body, taking in the curves not hidden even by that ridiculous peasant blouse she’s wearing, “ _Look_ at you. Who wouldn’t be?”

Alex rolls her eyes at him again, an exasperated sigh falling from her lips, but she’s smiling, “Flatterer.”

Matt shakes his head, “No. Have you _seen_ you?”

The light on the balcony is dim, but Matt thinks he sees the color rising in her cheeks and he grins. There are few things he loves more in this life than making _Alex Kingston_ blush.

Alex laughs, tipping her head back, and a curl catches in a passing breeze, whipping into her face. “You never quit,” She shakes her head, dragging the curl from where it landed across her eye.

A silence descends over the balcony, and Alex turns her head out to look at the city. Matt does too, watching as various lights blink on and off.

She’s quite right: he never quits. But he’d quit four years ago, surrendered to whatever she thought was best for them—and he wonders now what might have happened if he hadn’t. Maybe he could have convinced her; maybe things could have been different. Maybe if he hadn’t holed himself up in his flat licking his wounds when he wasn’t at pubs drinking to forget her, things would be different now.

But he had done all those things, and things _weren’t_ different now, and she had hurt him back then—deeply, and more than he had even realized.

His gaze drifts back to her where she sits watching the city.

“I didn’t ask for us to share a room.” Matt explains, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire for Alex to _know that_. It’s _true_ , anyway. He presses his eyes closed for a moment, cursing himself for _saying that_ , before he opens them again.

Alex turns to look at him, her mouth dropping open in surprise, “Matt, you don’t have to explain anything to me. She’s your girlfriend.”

“Yeah.” Matt nods, “But, I just… I don’t want you to think…” He trails off – he doesn’t know what he doesn’t want her to think. That he was trying to rub it in, maybe. That he’s in love with anyone who isn’t her, probably.

“ _Matt_ ,” Alex says his name emphatically, closing her eyes, “I didn’t expect – I didn’t expect you to wait around, you know.” She sighs, bringing her hand up to the bridge of her nose and pressing on the sides. She looks suddenly tired. “I didn’t expect you to – to _pine_ or anything.” She opens her eyes to look at him, “I understand, darling, _really_.”

Matt stares at her a bit in disbelief; he considers her, watching the way the porch light reflects off her hair—strawberry blonde now—making it look even more golden.

In this moment, he wants to tell her that actually, no, she so very clearly doesn’t understand because that’s _all he did_.

All he did was wait and pine for her, and it was only when he couldn’t take the loneliness anymore—only when he knew that Alex was coming back into his life, when he was convinced that she’d have moved on—that he’d begun pretending that he hadn’t been waiting, pining for years.

“Alex…” It’s on the tip of his tongue, he can feel the words behind his teeth gathering their strength, but just as he’s about to speak them Jack’s laugh cuts through the night and out on to the balcony.

Alex looks past Matt through the screen door. He leans over and peers around the corner through the screen door too, where he sees Jack sitting with Sabrina at the kitchen counter; they’re both laughing as Jack begins animatedly telling a story, his hands waving about his head.

Matt turns back around to look at Alex, “Has he asked you out yet?” He drums his fingers on the wall behind him.

Alex doesn’t look at Matt, dropping her hand from her face to her lap, where she picks at an imaginary piece of lint on her jeans; she stays silent, and that’s all the answer Matt needs. Not that he’s surprised—he saw the way Jack was looking at her yesterday; he sees the way men _always_ look at her.

He scoffs a bit, “Doesn’t waste any time, does he?” He shakes his head, “Are you going?”

Again, Alex doesn’t answer. Matt watches her face carefully, sees the indecision flicker in her eyes as she looks at him, biting her lip in concentration. She hasn’t decided yet, he knows, but she’s considering Jack, and the thought sends a roil through Matt’s stomach.

Matt presses his back into the wall, the brick cool beneath his shirt. He shakes his head, “He’s younger than you, you know. What will the _press say_?” He knows he sounds bitter, can hear it in his voice, but he can’t help it.

Alex narrows her eyes at him, tilting her head to the side as she considers him, “And yet I’m playing his _wife_ , not his _mother_.”

Matt scoffs, “You’re not playing my mother, either, Alex.”

Alex smirks, her fingertips running along the top of the glass partition she’s leaning against, “No.” She agrees, and if he thinks it was too easy, he’s right. She smiles at him, “Just the mother of the woman you’re _shagging_.”

Matt flinches both at the word and at her tone.

Alex sighs and lets out a mirthless laugh, “Yes, that’s so much _better_ darling, thank you.”

Matt rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He ignores her comment, deciding he just can’t go anywhere near it right now. She’s so obsessed with their bloody age difference, and it incenses him. He adopts a serious tone, bordering on conspiratorial. “Just - you wouldn’t want to ruin his career, of course.”

Alex’s eyes widen at that, and Matt sees a spark of anger flash in her eyes as her nostrils flare, “Matt, _don’t_.” Alex presses her fingers to her own lips, as if to keep the words that might come after tucked safely inside. She eyes him, “He has a daughter just a little younger than you, you know.”

Matt sighs, “How quaint.” He pushes himself off the wall, finally, and steps closer to her. He stops in front of her, and leans slightly into her personal space. His eyes flick down to her lips, then back up to her eyes, which are widened again, this time in surprise at his nearness to her, “He doesn’t seem your type.”

She quirks her brow at him, “Oh? I have a type, do I?” Her tone is amused, but there is caution in her eyes at his proximity to her, and a bit of the anger he’d risen in her still courses underneath, he can tell, “What’s my type, then?” She asks, her tone curious.

Matt jams his hands in the pockets of his jeans, then eyes her, still leaning a bit into her personal space, “Well. Men who don’t remotely deserve you, it seems.” He casts a glance over his shoulder inside, where Jack still sits, talking to Sabrina. Matt shrugs, “Maybe he _is_ your type, then. After all, we both know you _run_ from any man who might deserve you, who might possibly know what being with you might mean.”

Alex sighs, the sound weary and heavy in the night sky surrounding them, “I’m not a prize, Matt.” She shakes her head, turning away from him again to look out over the city, “And if ever I was, those days are well in the past.” Her voice is so quiet, so sad, and he feels his heart clench in his chest.

Matt turns and faces the city too, leaning against the wall of the balcony; he tries not to think about how close Alex’s knee is to his body from where she sits perched on the corner. He stares out at the city, and then closes his eyes.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Kingston. And I’m just sorry I wasn’t the one you’d let prove it to you.”

“There’s nothing to prove, Matthew.” She sounds almost angry, and he turns to look at her, finding her face unreadable.

He feels anger course through him now, and he shakes his head, still staring at her. “There might’ve been.” He sighs, “If you’d have let me try.”

She looks at him then, and the anger flashes in her eyes again, “Try for _what_ , exactly, Matt?” She stares at him, “For six months of great sex before you _moved on_? Before you found someone else, someone better suited to you? Someone who can give you things I so very clearly can’t?” She laughs, but it’s brittle and it doesn’t sound like her, the noise wrong in his ears, “Well pardon me for wanting to skip over that bit.”

Matt steps into his anger now, her words igniting the spark within him. She is downright infuriating sometimes, “Better suited…? God, Alex!” He steps back from her, shaking his head. He rubs his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends a bit as he looks at her from across the balcony, “Do you really think so little of me?” He holds his hands out in front of him, searching for words, “That I would just… just… I was _ready_ , Alex. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“The problem, Matt, is that _you_ don’t understand. _You_ don’t understand the part where people make promises and then _don’t keep them_.” Her voice is quiet, calm, and it cuts him.

Matt tugs on his hair again, staring at her in disbelief; she is so sure, _so bloody sure_ that he is just like every other man in her life. Despite his confession earlier this evening, despite _hers_ , she’s not willing to let it go, and it is maddening.

She is infuriating in her stubborn refusal to hear what he’s telling her; still, he wants nothing more than to drag her down from her perch on the corner of the balcony and kiss her, crush her lips against his, kiss the past from her mouth until she knows only him.

But he doesn’t, because he _can’t_. He can’t make her _see_ , and it has never been clearer than it is right now. So, he just looks at her sadly, instead.

He shakes his head, “I’m not _people_ , Alex. I’m me. Just me.”

She’s not looking at him now, casting those blue-green eyes of hers out over the city and he’s reminded of that morning in his flat—the morning when she ran.

He thinks about how he’d stood in the doorway, just staring at the closed door of his flat after she’d left. He thinks about how he’d sat on the edge of his bed, fingers itching to pick up his phone and dial her. He thinks about how he didn’t change his sheets for two weeks, until he was sure that the very last vestiges of her scent were gone, and even then, how he didn’t wash the pillowcase she’d used that night until days after, _just in case_.

He thinks about the pubs he went to in the days after she was gone, the girls he danced with, how many times he pretended they were Alex. He thinks about how broken his heart was after that, and how he can’t ever watch her leave again—how it took him weeks, months, years to heal, and how he’s still not done. He can’t do it again; he can’t go through any of this again.

He scrubs his hand down his face, suddenly _so_ tired, and he looks at her, defeated, “I can’t do this, Alex.”

She smiles at him sadly, “I’m not asking you to, darling.”

Matt lets out a little huff of air, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, “No.” He says, and he can’t keep the disappointment and bitterness out of his voice, “Of course you’re not.” He looks at her for a long moment before he makes his way to the screen door. Opening it, he pauses, turning his head over his shoulder. He thinks he sees tears in her eyes, but she’s staring at the city and he can’t be sure, “Goodnight, Alex.”

As he closes the screen door behind him, he thinks he hears her whisper back.

He makes his way to his room, changes into his sleep clothes, and lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling. After a while, he hears the door next to his room open and then close softly— _thin walls_ — and he tries not to think about Alex sitting on the other side of the wall from him; she’s so close to him, but in this moment, it feels like she’s never been farther.

He _wants_ her, of course he does. He’s wanted her since the moment he met her, if he’s honest. But he went through hell when she left, and tonight she made it clear that she can’t be convinced, and he just can’t go through that again: the sleepless nights, the emptiness, _losing her_.

Her past won’t let her love him, it won’t let her be _with_ him; after what feels like ages of repeating those sad truths to himself, he finally drifts off to sleep, imagining an alternate universe where her past _does_ let her love him back.

Matt’s awoken later by a dip in the bed next to him. He opens his eyes to see Deni, back from her ADR session, crawling into bed beside him. He rolls over and looks at her, sleep still fogging his brain. When she sees him, she tucks her legs up underneath her and leans against the headboard.

“How was ADR?” He asks, propping himself up a bit.

Deni shrugs, “Fine.”

Matt narrows his eyes at her, “What was all that tonight, earlier?”

Deni looks at him, “What do you mean?”

Matt rolls his eyes, then sits up to fully face her, “You know what I mean. You were _very_ rude to Alex earlier—it was uncalled for, honestly. In fact, you’ve been rude to her since she arrived.” He fixes her with a hard stare, and Deni looks down at her hands in her lap as she wrings them together, “ _Why_? What has she done to you?”

Deni looks up at him then, and she rolls her eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot.” Deni sighs, “I see the way you look at her, Matty.” Her voice grows quieter, “The way she looks at you.”

Matt can see the tears in Deni’s eyes as she speaks, but he can’t tell if they’re real or fake, and he sighs, throwing his feet over so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed; he drops his head in his hands. He hates how much of himself wants to quiz Deni, his _girlfriend_ , about what she means when she says she sees the way Alex looks at him.

He shakes his head, sighing again. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not now, not ever. Not with her, and not with anyone.

Everything that happened between he and Alex—everything that _didn’t_ happen between he and Alex—feels sacred. Like it’s something only for the two of them and no one else.

“Deni,” Matt says, a bit impatiently, scrubbing his hand over his face and then turning to look at her over his shoulder, “Alex and I… we aren’t together, okay? We never were.” That’s the best he can give her without outright lying.

Deni stands and walks over to his side of the bed. She’s wearing a skimpy nightgown that he would have found very pleasing under other circumstances – before… well, just before. She sits down next to him, looking at the side of his face, “But you want to be, don’t you? You wish you had been.”

Matt looks at her, “Deni, _stop_.”

She looks at him defiantly, her chin jutting out, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Matt shakes his head, “I’m with _you_.”

She narrows her eyes at him, “Not what I asked.”

Matt feels the anger rise in him, and he knows it isn’t fair, but he can’t help it. He really, really doesn’t want to talk about this—“Deni, I swear to god, can you just _drop this_ , please?” He sighs, turning to face her, “I’m with you, okay? So _stop_. Stop _this_ and stop being rude to Alex.”

She considers him, her bright blue eyes searching his face. Suddenly, a small smile breaks across her face, “Okay,” She sighs, bringing a hand to his chest and toying with the stretched-out collar of his t-shirt, “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She shakes her head and then moves to straddle him, placing one knee on either side of him, “Why would you want _her_ when you can have _me_?” She asks, then presses her mouth against his, kissing him.

Matt tries to hide his visceral reaction to her words, but he feels his frame stiffen in response. Deni doesn’t notice, sliding her tongue into his mouth, pressing her body against his.

Matt tries to clear his head, reminds himself that she is his _girlfriend_. He tries to think about Deni as he closes his eyes and kisses her back, but all he can think about is Alex, her face in the moonlight.

Matt slides his hand around her hips at the same time his other hand slides up to cup a breast, but he finds slim hips and small breasts and he is immediately reminded that it’s _not_ Alex he’s kissing.

Deni moans, and arches her body into him. Matt wants to flick off the lights and bury himself in Deni over and over again until he forgets, for just a moment, about the woman he wants but can’t have.

As Deni moves her hands to the hem of his shirt, Matt remembers Alex next door, and his hands fly down to cover Deni’s. Pulling his mouth from hers, he shakes his head. When she tries to kiss him again, he pulls back, just out of reach.

“I’ve an early call tomorrow.” He explains.

She grins slyly at him, “I can be quick.”

He eases her gently off his lap, shaking his head, “Not tonight.” He slips under the covers, ignoring Deni’s pout and stare.

Finally, she walks to the other side of the bed, slips off her nightgown, and slides in to the bed, the sheets rustling around her. Matt turns off the light, turning on his side so he’s facing away from her. Deni adjusts herself so she’s lying against him, her bare breasts pressing into his back. So much about this feels wrong—another woman wrapped around his body while the woman he _loves_ sleeps in the next room. The woman who will never choose him over fear, and so he has to choose something else—he _has_ to move on.

So he doesn’t shirk Deni off, despite the unease that settles in his stomach at the contact, at her thin arm wrapped around his side. Instead, he lies restless in bed for hours, sighing in relief when Deni shifts in her sleep away from him; when he finally falls asleep, he dreams of Alex.

He dreams of a world where nothing hurt her; of a world where she can love him and believe that he loves her. And when he wakes in the middle of the night, he wonders if that’s the only place he’ll find happiness: in his dreams, with her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s this, then?” Alex asks, looking at the alcohol spread out on the island. 
> 
> “Tequila!” Matt grins, “Come on, Kingston, don’t you recognize it?” Matt asks, reaching for the bottle of tequila and twisting the cap off, “It can’t have been that long since you’ve had something so smooth slide down your throat.” 
> 
> Alex crosses her arms over her chest, her right hip leaning against the edge of the island. She arches her brow at him, watching as the deepest shade of crimson she’s seen on him yet rapidly crawls up his cheeks. Doug snorts, and Andres lets out a laugh. 
> 
> He’d not meant it like that of course, but Alex smirks, unable to resist. 
> 
> She drops her voice to a lower register, “I must admit, it’s been a bit longer than I’d usually prefer, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may sound like a broken record, but I mean it every time: thank you for reading this story. Reading all your comments is lovely and I'm so glad that people seem to be enjoying this little tale. :)

The first week of filming flies by uneventfully enough, though every scene Alex films with Deni—her on-screen _daughter_ as the girl is ever so keen to remind—is fraught with tension. Deni invariably makes some snide comment, which Alex valiantly ignores nine times out of ten; only biting back every once in awhile, and usually drawing a laugh from the surrounding crew when she does, much to Deni’s dismay and Alex’s own delight.

Alex has had her fair share of sniping co-stars, and she’s too seasoned in her career now to sink to Deni’s level. Most of the time, anyway. So, Alex shows up, does her scenes, and retires to the shared house where she frequently chats with Jack and the other three supporting members of the cast. Since production is moving at a breakneck speed to get everything shot in the allotted very short time frame, and since he is one of the leads of the show, Matt has been filming quite a bit more than Alex has, which means they are rarely at the house together, which honestly suits Alex just fine.

Things have been a bit tense between the two of them since their conversation out on the balcony their first night in the house, so Alex doesn’t mind not having to deal with it most of the time.

She does find herself missing him, though, which she feels a bit ridiculous about. She’d gone so long without him that she was able, eventually, to forget just how much she truly enjoyed his company. But coming back, seeing him, _working_ with him even for just the one scene so far, has reminded her of every good time they’d had in the past, and the reminder leaves her feeling lonelier than she has in years.

The conversation she and Matt had on the balcony was beyond necessary and quite overdue, she knows that. But it still feels like things are unresolved between them—she imagines, now, that things will always feel like that. And, she imagines, they _are_ unresolved—Alex can’t tell him the things she wants to say, she probably won’t ever be able to tell him those things; it’s not her place now. Truthfully, it wasn’t her place even back then.

Still, as she lies in her bed at night, she finds herself wishing she could say them. To him, _to anyone_. Matt’s words echo in her ear every single night as she courts sleep: _do you have so little faith in me_? He’d asked her that night, and the tenor of hurt in his voice rang through, clear as day.

And _no_ , _that really wasn’t it at all_ , she longed to tell him. It was that Alex had so little faith in _herself_ , in her ability to keep anyone in her life satisfied and happy, and she couldn’t bear to let him down that way. _Not him_. And she would, she knew. She would let him down—and his love for her would morph into hate, or worse: indifference.

So the time apart, though she misses him, is good. Like their conversation, she knows it’s necessary, even if it hurts.

In the evenings, after filming is done, Alex spends a lot of time with Sabrina, and she’s been pleasantly surprised by how well they get on; Sabrina is a young woman, just turned thirty, who lives with her girlfriend in a one-bedroom apartment in Echo Park.

One of the _bonding activities_ mandated by Daniel is a one-on-one lunch with every single cast mate before filming is over. Sabrina approached Alex on the third day of filming, and they’d spent the lunch hour getting to know one another. They chatted about everything—acting, past relationships, film; Alex learned about Sabrina’s family, about what it was like growing up biracial—black and Korean—in the South, not to mention growing up gay. By the end of the lunch, Alex found herself laughing and feeling comfortable and surprisingly open.

Sabrina is funny and carefree, South Carolinian by birth, and she makes Alex laugh. Despite their age difference, Alex finds that they have rather a lot in common, and she is very glad to have found a friend in the house.

When the first weekend off comes around, Alex visits some of her old LA haunts—she takes in a new exhibit at the Natural History Museum, sees _Bodies_ at the California Science Center, has lunch with a friend at one of her favorite restaurants. She stays overnight with another old friend in the valley, where they sit up until late in the evening after ordering gourmet pizza from a little shop and they watch old films, reminiscing about the past.

They talk about the old days, about old flames, old times, old scars. It all feels very nostalgic, and by the time she’s ready to go back to the shared cast house on Sunday evening, Alex is feeling equal parts nostalgic and melancholic.

She wants nothing more than to take a long, hot shower in her ensuite bathroom, change into her pajamas and crawl into the surprisingly comfortable bed and stare out that picturesque window into the city until she finally falls asleep; she wants all of this, and she wants it now, despite the fact that when her friend drops her off outside the house it’s still light outside.

She sighs, staring at the outside of the house and begrudging the fact that she can’t have her hot shower and comfortable bed.

She can’t have them because tonight is game two of the Bonding Ritual, as the cast—some lovingly, some sarcastically—has come to call it. It’s been marked on the calendar since their arrival, and Daniel has made sure to remind everyone how very _mandatory_ these events are; he issued a reminder every single day of filming during the week and promised great punishment—‘ _I am the showrunner and head-writer after all’_ —should anyone not take it seriously.

He’s said it with a smile, but everyone knows that Daniel has carte blanche with the network as far as this series—or any other he produces—is concerned. An unexpected death could very swiftly be written in, should Daniel so choose.

So everyone has agreed to take these rituals seriously, and Alex does feel a bit closer to her cast mates after each one. Whether it’s the actual activity or just how silly they all feel whilst doing them that brings the closeness about is difficult to say.

A great mystery, however, surrounds this week’s activity, since it’s known only as _Middle School Throwback_ on every calendar in the house. Everyone has been hazarding guesses since they saw it printed on the calendar, but no one knew for sure what it was. This codename is quite scary to Alex, actually, because she knows precisely what sort of silly and ridiculous games Middle Schoolers in America got up to, thanks to her daughter in years past; Alex also knows without a shadow of a doubt that she is too old to play any of them without feeling at least a bit ridiculous.

When she’s back in the quiet house, Alex slips into her room, tosses her bag on her bed, and rummages around in her suitcase. She strips out of her clothes and throws a pair of soft black leggings on, enjoying the way they feel on her skin—they were soft when she first bought them, but they’re quite well-worn now and even more comfortable. She foregoes a bra, and throws an oversized plain white t-shirt on, not caring that it slides off her shoulder a bit on one side. She looks in the mirror and tosses her hair up into a messy ponytail, then pulls a few curls out so it looks _messy with intent_ , at least.

When she’s done, she surveys herself in the full-length mirror and shrugs. She looks a bit like she stepped out of the 80s, which is fine for a night of time travel, she guesses. As she sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls some yoga socks over her feet, she snorts: _as though you weren’t well past_ Middle School _in the bloody 80s, Alex._

With a final sigh, a final glance in the mirror, and a final look of longing directed at the comfortable bed in the center of the room, Alex heads out into the living room adjacent to where the cast has gathered in the kitchen, preparing for their mystery bonding rite to begin. The radio is turned up playing some new song that will surely become an earworm, the liquor is out, and everyone stands around chatting, an undercurrent of excitement buzzing under each conversation. Alex chalks it up to the liquor—she _can’t_ be the only one who dreads these things.

Alex hangs back, just out of sight, mentally preparing herself to enter the kitchen. She sees Sabrina, Doug, and Andres trying to talk Jack into taking what appears to be a shot of something – tequila if the bottle in the middle of the kitchen is anything to go by. Jack holds his hands out in front of him, shaking his head, but he’s smiling and taking the shot a mere thirty seconds later.

Alex sees Deni, clothed in a little white sundress (honestly, are sundresses the _only_ clothing she owns?) sitting on a barstool next to Matt, who is dressed in skinny jeans and an old Radiohead t-shirt she’d seen him wear years ago; they’re sitting at the kitchen island, a dark gray granite slab in the middle of the rather huge kitchen area. There’s three empty shot glasses on the island, and Deni holds a full one in her hand, her hips swaying suggestively to the music emanating from the radio even as she brings the back of her hand to her lips, licks it, and tips the shot into her mouth, swallowing with a grimace. She sputters a bit as Matt passes her a lime from a small bowl on the island.

Deni scrunches her face as she sucks on the lime, “Ugh, that is horrid.” She says, shaking her head. She wrenches the lime out of her mouth and tosses it at the sink, her arms rising up in victory when she sees that it actually hit its target. “Babe, did you see that?” She asks Matt, excitedly, laughing when a little droplet of tequila from the shot glass still in her hands spills on her wrist. “Oops,” She giggles, setting the shot glass down and then bringing her arm to her mouth so she can suck the last droplet off. “Did you see that, babe?” She asks again.

Matt smiles at her, “Yeah, Den, great shot.”

Deni smiles and leans forward, pressing her lips against his repeatedly, murmuring something against his lips that Alex thankfully can’t hear from where she stands, observing. When Deni pulls back from Matt, she’s smiling, her eyes shining, and while Alex can’t see Matt’s face from her angle now, she imagines it looks much the same. And why wouldn’t it? The thought settles a stone low in Alex’s stomach, and she swallows thickly, taking a steadying breath despite the jolt of pain that seizes through her heart.

_No time like the present, Alex_ , she mutters to herself just as she steps around the wall and into full view, a smile fixed firmly into place. She does her best to ignore the feeling in her heart, persistent though it is, stepping forward into the kitchen and tugging a bit nervously at the bottom hem of her shirt.

Sabrina sees Alex first, and she squeals in delight; it’s not a sound Alex would have thought to associate with the rather androgynous young woman.

“Alex!” She exclaims, bounding around the kitchen counter, “You’re back!” She laughs as a bit of tequila spills over from her shot glass, “I’ve missed you!” Sabrina says, pulling Alex into a hug.

Alex laughs, hugging her back before pulling away and tapping the shot glass Sabrina’s holding, “I think that’s the tequila talking, love.”

Sabrina smiles, then turns over her shoulder to look at Andres, Doug, and Jack, “I’m really trying to maintain my cool right now, y’all, but _Alex Kingston_ just called me _love_.”

Alex tilts her head back and laughs, “And you’re blushing,” She observes, smiling at Sabrina who, in turn, blushes harder.

Alex looks over Sabrina’s shoulder at Doug and Andres, who nod at her and hold their shot glasses up in a miniature toast. She nods back, and then turns to Jack, who’s smiling at her.

He’s wearing black jeans and a blue and white checkered button-up shirt; the color of the shirt brings out the blue in his eyes, and they look brighter than she’s seen them before. She notices that he seems genuinely happy to see her, and the realization pleases her.

“Welcome back,” Jack says, stepping a bit closer to her. She can smell his cologne, and she thinks it’s actually quite a nice smell, “Did you have a nice weekend?” He queries, leaning in to her a bit.

Alex nods, “Mm, quite.” She moves over to the island, and leans her lower back against it, “Always nice catching up with old friends.” She smiles and glances across the island; Matt is watching her with an unreadable expression, and Deni is watching her with a completely readable one which Alex pointedly ignores, “Hello,” She says to both of them, perhaps a bit too cheerily.

Deni ignores her but Matt smiles. Alex is pleased to see it’s genuine, “Hello, Alex,” His voice is warm, kind, and every piece of her damn broken heart jostles at the sound of it, at the sound of _her_ Matt saying her name. No one’s ever quite said her name the way he does, even in casual conversation.

“What’s this, then?” Alex asks, looking at the alcohol spread out on the island.

“Tequila!” Matt grins, “Come on, Kingston, don’t you recognize it?” Matt asks, reaching for the bottle of tequila and twisting the cap off, “It can’t have been that long since you’ve had something so smooth slide down your throat.”

Alex crosses her arms over her chest, her right hip leaning against the edge of the island. She arches her brow at him, watching as the deepest shade of crimson she’s seen on him yet rapidly crawls up his cheeks. Doug snorts, and Andres lets out a laugh.

He’d not meant it like that of course, but Alex smirks, unable to resist.

She drops her voice to a lower register, “I must admit, it’s been a bit longer than I’d usually prefer, darling.”

Alex winks at him as he splutters, the red splotching out over even the part of his chest left visible by the stretched out collar of his t-shirt; Alex ignores Deni’s glare, pushing off the counter and opening the fridge. Pulling out a bottle of water, she pops the cap, and brings it to her lips as she shuts the door. She looks at Jack who is watching her with amusement and perhaps something a bit warmer than that; she smirks around the mouth of her water bottle and raises her eyebrows at him, nearly laughing when he just grins and shakes his head at her.

Sabrina sidles up next to Alex with a shot of tequila in her outstretched hand, “Loving the foresight, Alex,” Sabrina says, still holding the shot out.

Alex twists the cap back on her water bottle and sets it on the island; she looks suspiciously at the shot, then back at Sabrina, “Oh, love, I don’t think I can. It really has been rather a long time since I’ve done a shot.” She smiles, “Best leave that bit to you young ones, I think.”

Sabrina doesn’t budge, just stares at her. Alex looks at Jack, but he holds his hands up in supplication.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I resisted, too, but they convinced me.”

“Oh yes,” Alex nods, her voice gravely serious, “I saw the fight you put up. Noble effort. It’s a wonder they wore you down given the will you displayed.” She finishes dryly.

Jack laughs, then shrugs. “Well. It _is_ tequila.”

“Come on, Alex,” Sabrina coaxes, sliding the salt shaker and then the bowl of limes nearer to Alex on the island, “Think of it as a pre-cursor to tonight’s bonding experience. The bonding _before_ the bondage.”

Alex quirks her eyebrow up, “Oh, I don’t need tequila to be up for a little bondage, Sab.”

Sabrina barks out a laugh, “Every rumor I’ve ever heard about your flirting is absolutely true.”

“And not even a _bit_ exaggerated,” Matt chimes in, and Alex turns to look at him—he’s grinning at her, and she doesn’t miss the darkness in his eyes—she wonders if he’s picturing her in bondage; she’s not surprised to find that she rather hopes that he is.

Alex bites the inside of her cheeks, stopping a smile, “Oh, _shut up_.”

She can see the words on the tip of his tongue; his mouth goes so far as to begin to form the words, but she sees him think better of it. She hears them, anyway: _make me_.

Sabrina wiggles the shot glass, still in her outstretched hand, “Come on, Alex, pretend you’re in middle school—or whatever y’all call it in England—and _give in_ to the peer pressure.”

Alex sighs. She had somehow been distracted and had nearly forgotten about whatever ridiculous teenage thing they were all going to be made to do here tonight. Maybe tequila wasn’t such a bad idea—even a single shot could loosen her up on an empty stomach.

Alex narrows her eyes at Sabrina, considering her, “Oh, _fine_ ,” Alex rolls her eyes. She picks up the saltshaker, licks the back of her hand, then tips a bit of salt onto the slick spot. Grabbing a lime from the lime bowl, she shakes her head at Sabrina before Alex licks the salt from her own hand, closes her eyes, then brings the shot glass to her lips. She tips its contents into her mouth and swallows in one smooth gulp, despite the fact that there’s quite a bit more alcohol than she thinks there reasonably should have been. Alex elegantly sets the glass on the counter, and then slips the lime into her mouth, sucking on it gently.

When she opens her eyes, she sees Sabrina standing in front of her, a lime rind in her teeth so that the flesh of the lime is sticking out. Alex’s eyes widen a bit, and Sabrina shrugs, sucking the lime in her mouth and grinning at Alex.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Sabrina explains around the lime.

Alex pulls her lime out of her mouth and points it at Sabrina, “Cheeky.” She observes, laughing as she drops the lime in the bin near the island.

Sabrina just smiles and pours herself one more shot, “Might have forgot to mention it was a double.”

Alex glares at her, but she’s smiling, “Yes, you might have.”

Alex is dimly aware of Matt’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t look at him, twisting the cap off her water bottle and taking another sip. She can feel the tequila in her stomach, warm and searching, and she feels looser already.

_Ah, the transformative power of tequila_.

Suddenly, Jack claps his hands together once, startling Alex a bit, “Alright, everyone. The game is afoot.” He pulls an envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans. At everyone’s look of surprise, Jack grins, “Daniel apparently trusts me, and only me, to hold everyone to these games. Well, _he_ called me an honorary Tibetan Monk, but in Daniel-speak I’d say that’s pretty much the same thing.” He waves the envelope around, “To the living room, then. Bring your tequila, if you must.”

When they’ve all settled into their respective positions in the living room—the very same ones as that first night, Alex muses—Jack breaks the seal on the envelope. He pulls a little card out, his eyes scanning ahead; his mouth drops open just a bit, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head.

He clears his throat and starts to read with a ridiculous dramatic flourish, likely an instruction from Daniel, “Ah, the days of Middle School, where being invited to a boy-girl party was at once foreign and thrilling: would your crush be there? Would your turn land on him or her in Spin the Bottle? _How_ many minutes in Heaven?” Jack laughs, rolling his eyes a bit. Alex feels the nerves rush through her body—it _couldn’t_ be that, could it? She glances nervously at Jack who catches her eye and winks, “And the ultimate pre-teen game, the one that saw friendships crumble and new ones rise from the ashes: _Truth or Dare_.”

At his announcement, Doug, Sabrina, and Andres go wild, clapping and shouting just a bit with raucous laughter and various shouts of ‘ _I told you!’_ and _‘I knew it_!’ - Alex can’t help but wonder just how much tequila they’d had. Though, if she’s honest, youthful enthusiasm might just as well be responsible.

She chances a glance at Deni and Matt where they sit on the smaller end of the sectional; Deni is smiling, apparently pleased by the reveal, while Matt looks a little uneasy. She tilts her head curiously at him, but her attention is drawn back to Jack when he starts to speak again.

“Apparently,” Jack says, leaning forward and tossing the card on the coffee table when he stands up, “Daniel’s trust in us only goes so far.” Jack walks over to a decorative cabinet in the corner of the room. He opens the cabinet doors and pulls out two mason jars with labels stuck on the front, “He’s written the truths _and_ dares for us.” He sets the mason jars on the coffee table, twists their tops off, and then takes his seat again.

“Standardized rules, per Daniel,” Jack picks up the card again, squinting at it, “Oh, this fine print is a bastard, and I’ve not got my reading glasses.”

“Oh,” Alex quickly removes her own reading glasses from where they’ve been tucked in the collar of her shirt, “Use mine.”

Jack smiles gratefully at her, sliding them up over the bridge of his nose.

“Awww! _Mum and Dad!_ ” Deni whines from the other side of the room; she presses a hand to her chest and juts her bottom lip out in a pseudo-pout. “You two are like a little old married couple and it’s _so_ cute!”

Alex just manages to bite back the scathing reply she can feel forming on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t quite hold back the roll of her eyes.

Jack chuckles a bit, “Right, then.” He holds the card up again, reading from it, “Standardized rules: since this is a _get to know you game_ , easy on the dares. You’re allowed to choose _dare_ only once, and you’re allowed to avoid a question by choosing a dare only once. Some truths are in there more than once, deal with it. Youngest goes first, and play continues clockwise.”

Jack slips Alex’s glasses off his nose and hands them back to her. She leans forward and sets them on the coffee table, a bundle of nerves sending adrenaline through her body. She had been dreading this, well and truly dreading this, since she saw it on the schedule the first night in the house.

It’s ridiculous, utterly and completely ridiculous, that she is about to embark upon a game of _truth or dare_ when she is damn near halfway through her fifties. The awkwardness that abounds with games like this is a rite of passage, and its one she’s suffered a thousand times over. She curses her chosen profession in her head, wondering why she couldn’t have become a barrister after all. Surely other professions didn’t subject its tenants to anything as ridiculous as this. Granted, this was rather a first for her in acting, too.

“I think I’m going to need another shot of that,” Jack says, eyeing the tequila where it sits on the coffee table.

Doug laughs and passes it over along with a shot glass.

_More tequila_. That’s how she’s going to get through this. Alcohol will solve all of her problems tonight, and she can’t even begin to care whether or not that is problematic.

“Oh, you know, me too.” Alex says, smiling at Jack.

Jack pours the tequila into the glass, and then passes it over to her. He reaches for the salt and the limes, but by the time he’s turning back to her with them in hand, she’s already downed the shot and is wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She holds the glass back out to him, shrugging.

He chuckles, “Alright, then.” He grabs the glass, pours his tequila in, and follows her lead, setting the shot glass, lime, and salt back on the coffee table. “Let’s get started. _Doug_.”

“I’m only the youngest by like a _week_!” He jerks his thumb at Andres, who is sitting to his left, Sabrina in the middle of them. “Fine. Truth.” He reaches in and pulls out a little scrap of paper from the mason jar with _truth_ written on it. He hands the paper to Jack, the de-facto emcee of the game, apparently.

Jack clears his throat, “How old were you when you lost your virginity? Describe the circumstances.”

Doug drops his head in his hands, his blond hair falling forward over his eyes, “19.” He mutters, refusing to look at anyone. “Sarah Hunter in the bed of my truck after closing night of my first play in college, okay?” He sighs, pressing his head back into the couch.

Andres chuckles, “That closing night. It’ll get you every time.”

The group laughs, each of them familiar with the strangely intimate feel of a closing night, and suddenly the tension is broken. The first two rounds go by fairly quickly, everyone answering only a moderately embarrassing question, the tequila passed around from person to person until everyone is pleasantly tipsy or beyond. Alex even finds herself having a bit of a good time, to her eternal surprise.

When it’s Sabrina’s third turn, Jack leans forward and grabs the tequila, pouring it into a shot glass and holding it out to Alex.

She promptly shakes her head, and waves her hand in front of her, “I think three is enough; thank you, Jack.”

“I’ll take that!” Sabrina says, leaning across the coffee table and taking it from Jack’s hand. She tips it back, sets the glass on the table upside down, then rubs her hands together, “Alright. I’ll take my one and only _dare_ now, please.” With grandeur, she leans forward and pulls a slip of paper out of the mason jar labeled _dare_. She hands it to Jack, then sits back, but leans her body forward—sitting on the edge of her seat, waiting for Jack to read her fate.

Jack reads and his eyebrows shoot up; he lets out a light laugh, then reads it out loud: “ _Make out with the person in this room that you find most attractive_.”

An interested _hum_ moves around the group, curiosity piqued at the most interesting thing to happen in the game so far. Everyone looks around at each other, then back at Sabrina, everyone wondering whom she’ll choose.

Sabrina smiles, then rubs her hands together, “Y’all are one fine looking group, let me tell you. But that being said, this is actually a no-brainer for me. One of y’all’s _sexy_ is just so far off the charts, that I think it’d be considered a crime if I didn’t pick you.” Sabrina looks around, her eyes alighting on everyone in the little half circle; finally, she claps her hands and then points, “I’m gonna have to go with Alex.”

Alex’s mouth drops open in surprise, Doug lets out a low whistle, and Andres begins a slow clap. Sabrina looks at Andres, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s about damn time,” Andres says, running a hand over his shaved head. “Today, kissing; tomorrow, you can cross her off your list.”

Sabrina shoots Andres a withering look, then smiles at Alex, “Ignore him.” She runs a hand through the black curls sitting atop of her head; her hair has been shaved on the sides so it sticks up only in the middle. If there were a cooler hairstyle, Alex certainly hadn’t seen it. “But, you know, not gonna lie… you _are_ on my list.”

The rest of the group laughs, but Alex furrows her brow in confusion, feeling a bit like she’s been left out of a joke, “Sorry, honey, but _what_ list?”

“You know! _The list._ ” At Alex’s blank stare, Sabrina leans in closer to her to explain, “The list you make with your partner of celebrities who—if you happen to run into them in the grocery store or wherever—you can _shag_ , to put it in British, without consequence. You’re on mine. You’re the only one on mine, actually. Anyway.” Sabrina says, grinning, “Dare. I find _Alex_ the most attractive in this room.”

“I’m flattered, Sab.” Alex admits, laughing lightly.

“You shouldn’t be,” Sabrina says, “Have you _seen_ you? It’s practically a given.”

Matt, having just taken a sip of his tequila, nearly chokes on it. Alex turns to look at him, and it’s not lost on her that Sabrina, here tonight, is echoing Matt’s words from the other evening. He’s watching her carefully, but he’s got a small smirk on his face, and damn if she can’t read exactly what it says: _told you so._

Seated next to him, Deni looks vaguely annoyed and slightly offended; clearly the girl had been under the assumption that Sabrina was going to choose her rather than Alex. The realization amuses Alex, though she knows it shouldn’t, and she bites back a smile. She can allow herself to be petty sometimes, at least.

Alex shrugs her shoulders a bit, “Well, go on then.”

Sabrina slides off the couch and makes her way over to Alex’s chair, a smile on her face as she approaches. Alex sits up a bit in the chair, perching on the edge, and parting her legs to allow Sabrina access. Sabrina kneels in front of the chair, grins once more, and then suddenly looks a little worried.

Leaning in, she puts her lips near Alex’s ear, “Are you… are you okay with this?” She asks the question tentatively, quietly.

Alex doesn’t need to think about it—she’s always quite loved kissing, actually, in all its forms—and she meant it earlier, she is _quite_ flattered. She bites her lip and nods once.

All smiles again, Sabrina leans in and brushes her mouth over Alex’s. It’s tentative, sweet, and when Sabrina moves her hand up to cup Alex’s jaw, she can feel Sabrina’s hand trembling. Alex returns the kiss softly, allowing her lips to move slowly over Sabrina’s.

It’s a tender, sweet kiss, and not at all what Alex expected; sensing the young woman’s apprehension, Alex smiles against her mouth before pulling away to murmur against her lips, “I thought the dare was to _make out_?”

Sabrina freezes for just a moment before she lowers her mouth again. Clearly having received all the permission she needs, Sabrina kisses her fervently, her lips moving hungrily against Alex’s now. When Alex feels Sabrina’s tongue against her lips, seeking entrance, she smiles and opens her mouth.

Sabrina slides one hand into Alex’s hair, pulling her mouth tightly against her own. Sabrina’s fingers tighten in her curls and she deepens the kiss, her tongue darting into Alex’s mouth in exploration. Alex moves her hands up to the side of Sabrina’s face, her fingers sliding along the smooth skin behind Sabrina’s ears.

As far as kissing goes, Sabrina is quite good, and Alex finds herself rather enjoying the feel of Sabrina’s very soft mouth against her own—Alex has always quite liked kissing women; always found that they are soft where men are rough, and sometimes she knows she could do with a bit more softness in her life.

When Sabrina’s nails scrape along Alex’s scalp at the same time her tongue licks at the inside of Alex’s mouth, Alex moans softly into Sabrina’s mouth, and she feels her pull back and smile just a bit. They kiss for a few moments longer, their tongues dancing, exploring, enjoying until they finally break apart.

Sabrina smiles, then leans in and presses two light open-mouthed kisses against her lips before she rests her forehead against Alex’s.

“Damn,” Sabrina breathes out, just before she disentangles her hands from Alex’s hair and stands, a massive smile spreading across her face as she moves back to her place on the sofa.

Doug lets out another low whistle, and Andres begins another slow clap before their half of the couch breaks out into laughter. Jack clears his throat, and Alex glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He’s smiling as he reaches for the mason jars and pushes them towards Andres, indicating that it’s now his turn.

Alex sits back in her chair, and presses her fingers to her lips—she can only imagine how she looks, her lips slightly swollen from being kissed. She purposefully doesn’t look at Matt, even though she can _feel_ his eyes on her. Instead, she sits back in the chair and watches Andres choose his next question— _truth_ —her fingers idly tracing lightly over her own lips.

Alex feels flattered that Sabrina had chosen her; even more flattered that Sabrina had chosen _her_ in a roomful of exceedingly attractive people.

_Yes,_ Alex thinks, _more softness in her life is not a bad thing._

x

Matt Smith has never been so uncomfortable in all of his life. Okay, maybe once, when he was sixteen and there was a slight incident on the football field involving an air pump and a cleat, but really, he thinks this one beats that one by quite a large margin.

Because right now, he’s 36 years old playing _bloody_ truth or dare while he’s sitting in the middle of mostly strangers, directly next to his own girlfriend, having just watched the woman seated across from him with whom he’s been in desperate love for five and a half years, give or take, make out with another woman, whilst sitting directly across from the man who’s currently vying for her affection.

And Matt’s got a raging hard on.

_No_ , he thinks, _uncomfortable doesn’t even come_ close _to describing how he feels right now._

He was doing fine, really, having a bit of a laugh watching Alex be ravished by another woman; fun, that was, until he heard Alex let out a little moan-whimper as Sabrina kissed her.

He’d heard that sound once before, and _oh_ how he missed it. Matt remembers Alex making it against _his_ mouth as she writhed underneath him, and damn if a spark of jealousy doesn’t shoot right through him hearing it now.

When Sabrina pulls back and whispers a quiet _damn_ against Alex’s mouth, Matt nearly laughs—because he knows that feeling quite like he knows the back of his own hand. That woman can kiss. Her lips are soft, warm, inviting, and her tongue, oh – her tongue is _bloody magic_.

Matt presses his eyes shut. _Right. Best not to think about Alex’s tongue when you’re trying to make your erection disappear_. Because he knows exactly what her tongue can do—sinful things, that’s what. She’d shown him, that night, and since then it was the star of a good half of his fantasies about her.

Matt shakes his head, but he can’t take his eyes off Alex, watching as her fingers trace along her own lips. She looks thoroughly kissed, her lips a bit swollen, and Matt feels the jealousy spark again when he thinks about the fact that he’s not the one who gave her that look this time.

Matt barely hears Andres take his turn, and he vaguely listens to Deni as she takes hers, answering another truth question. When it’s his turn, he smiles, reaches in the _truth_ jar, and pulls out a little slip of paper. He passes it to Jack, wondering briefly and a bit bitterly how _Jack_ suddenly became the tribal leader. Matt doesn’t remember an election of any kind.

“Uh oh,” Jack says, his eyebrows shooting up to the middle of his, quite frankly as far as Matt is concerned, much too-large forehead, “Which of your co-stars in any play, movie, or TV show is the best kisser?”

_Shit fuck bloody fucking hell buggering shit fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck._ As he hears the question, Matt suddenly thinks that there aren’t enough curse words in the English language—someone should have invented _more_. Maybe he should start.

He can feel the blush crawling up his cheeks and he curses his genetics for his fair skin and his ridiculous ability to flush at a moment’s notice.

Everyone in the room looks vaguely uncomfortable, and no one looks like they’d fancy switching places with him. He can’t blame them really, as he lets out an awkward laugh, and brings his right ankle up to rest on his left knee. He rubs his hand over his neck, then scratches at his cheek, considering his options, liking exactly zero of them.

The truth is clear—it’s absolutely no contest. Alex is hands down the best kisser out of all of his co-stars—hell, out of every person he’d ever bloody kissed, Alex won bar none. But Matt’s currently sitting next to his girlfriend, and he can see her preening and fluffing her hair out of the corner of his eye, so how can he exactly _say_ that without looking like the world’s biggest bastard? He could lie and say it was Deni, even though the game’s called _truth_ or dare, and no one would know; thing is, though, _he’d_ know, and Matt had never been very fond of cheating.

Besides, Alex would probably _believe_ him, and the very last thing he wants is to hurt Alex, least of all with something that isn’t even true.

Right, then. “Dare,” He says, and a ripple of excitement goes through the supporting cast’s side of the couch. Matt refuses to look at Deni, but he doesn’t need to – he can guess the anger he’d find there by the tension rolling off her body next to him. Instead, Matt slides forward on his chair and reaches into the mason jar holding the handful of dares left.

He doesn’t pass it to Jack this time, usurping a little bit of the other man’s power as Matt unfolds the scrap of paper and reads out loud, “Kiss anyone in this room, with tongue – as long as you’re not dating.” He laughs a bit, knowing that Daniel had added the last bit of this dare in case either he or Deni picked it.

Matt leans back in his seat, considering his options. He’d love to kiss Alex, obviously, but that’s a can of worms he’s honestly not sure he can open right now. Not in front of all these people. And he knows without a doubt it’s a can of worms _she_ doesn’t want him to open right now – or ever, for that matter.

Matt would kiss any of the guys for a lark, honestly, tongue or no tongue—well, except Jack. But as he surveys the group, Matt’s eyes alight on Sabrina, and he thinks about where her mouth had just been. If he can’t kiss _Alex_ , kissing someone who had just kissed her might be the next best thing.

Sabrina sees him looking and she smiles. Matt raises his eyebrows in silent question and she nods. Grinning, Matt stands and heads over to the couch. Andres slides off the edge, allowing Matt to sit in his spot.

Matt slings his arm around the back of the couch and leans in, his mouth slanting against Sabrina’s. His tongue slips into her mouth, and just as he’d hoped, she tastes like tequila and _Alex—_ like tea and cinnamon and _hope_ —and Matt groans at the thought; it’s been so long since he tasted Alex, and it’s like he’s suddenly a man in a desert dying of thirst, the way he licks at the inside of Sabrina’s mouth.

He kisses her until he can’t taste Alex on Sabrina’s tongue anymore, and he pulls away, his eyes closed as he savors the remnants of cinnamon, of Alex, on his tongue.

When Matt finally opens his eyes, he finds Sabrina looking at him curiously, her brow furrowed, and he has the sudden inclination that she _knows_ exactly what he’d been doing. He runs a hand over his head, shrugging sheepishly before heading back to his place on the small end of the sectional. He casts a glance at Deni, but finds her examining her nail beds, apparently not worried at all about Matt kissing Sabrina.

Jack takes his turn—truth—and then it’s Alex’s turn. She smirks a little as she reaches into the mason jar labeled _dare_ and fishes a slip of paper out. She passes it to Jack, smiling. He takes it from her and Matt doesn’t miss the way his fingertips linger just a little too long against Alex’s hand. He can’t control the scowl that steals across his face.

Jack reads the paper out loud, “Brave reward: _the first person who chose a dare instead of truth gets to ask a question_. _Then pick another dare_.”

Alex gasps a bit and then rolls her eyes, sitting up a bit in her chair. Her top slips off her shoulder a bit and she drags it back up only to have it fall again. “Well that’s not fair.”

Everyone looks at Sabrina expectantly and she leans forward on the edge of the couch, stroking her chin in consideration. It’s exaggerated, meant to look silly, and Alex looks at her a bit sternly.

“Be. Nice.” Alex emphasizes each word, her finger wagging in Sabrina’s general direction.

Sabrina chuckles, “I’m always nice. At least… I’m always nice to women who are spectacular kissers.” She grins, waggling her eyebrows a bit at Alex. Then, Sabrina glances at Matt, and an interested look passes over her face—Matt feels his stomach tighten when Sabrina looks between he and Alex, still stroking her chin while she ponders. “Okay.” She finally says, “While you were filming _Who_ , did anything ever happen between you and Matt?”

_Definitely_ not enough curse words in the English language, Matt thinks. He’s inventing some new rather creative ones in his head as he watches Alex’s eyes widen a bit in panic; Matt freezes, feeling Deni next to him stiffen, knowing she’s acutely aware of his every action as she looks at him, gauging his reaction.

The thing is, Alex is a _brilliant_ actress, but she’s always been a pretty crap liar. Matt watches her face now, watches the way her nostrils flare a bit, and her eyes dart around unable to focus. _Okay, a_ very _crap liar_ , he amends. He’s always rather adored that about her, her inability to lie—but in this specific circumstance, he’s cursing that particular trait. Alex’s eyes continue to dart around the room, and she can’t seem to find a fixed point to land on. Sabrina, Matt notices, is watching her like a hawk, narrowed in on her expression, that curious look still in her eyes.

Alex reaches up and tucks an errant curl behind her ear, clearing her throat as she finally fixes her unsteady gaze on Sabrina, “Um, can you repeat the question?”

The last vestige of the lying— _anything_ to buy time. Matt nearly laughs; he might still if his girlfriend weren’t sitting next to him staring daggers at the side of his head. Four years. They’d kept this under wraps for four years, and _this_ is how it was going to come to light? During a bloody game of truth or dare?

Sabrina arches an eyebrow at Alex, a knowing smile spreading across her face, quite obviously familiar with the tactic, “Did anything ever happen between you and Matt during _Doctor Who_?” Sabrina asks patiently, rephrasing it just a bit.

A slow smile spreads across Alex’s face—and Matt knows instantly she’s found an out, a way to tell the truth, “No. Nothing happened between Matt and I during _Doctor Who_.”

Matt wouldn’t exactly characterize falling in love with Alex—which is something that had certainly happened between them during _Doctor Who_ —as _nothing,_ but okay. This way, at least, doesn’t get him in trouble with his girlfriend.

Sabrina narrows her eyes at Alex, clearly picking up on Alex’s subtext. And how could Sabrina not, really, when Matt had groaned when he tasted Alex on her tongue moments ago; he’d regret that decision, and maybe he should, but he just _can’t_. “Okay.” She looks suspicious, “What about _after_ then?”

Alex holds her finger up and clucks her tongue, “You’ve already asked your question. Sorry, love.” She reaches into the mason jar again and pulls out a second dare, per her first dare’s instructions. She hands it to Jack.

He opens the slip of paper and reads it, “Oh,” He scrubs a hand down his face, his skin coloring, “Um, it says you—it says, well, I’m just going to read it outright, shall I?” He clears his throat, looking at the paper, his face still a bit red, “ _Fake an orgasm_.”

_Oh sweet mother of holy fuck_. Right. Best to start canonizing the curse words then.

Matt had done something terrible in a past life, he must’ve; that was the only possible explanation for tonight. He must have been a thief, a liar, or worse in a past life, because there is no way that anyone with good karma would have endured everything he’d already endured tonight only to sit next to his own girlfriend and watch _Alex bloody Kingston_ fake an orgasm. He really doesn’t _need_ this right now.

Oh, but he really rather wants it, if he thinks about it.

He wonders how close it will sound to the real thing—and the real thing, he knows, is positively sinful, better than every fantasy he’s ever had: sexy, dirty, sweet; the way Alex chanted his name as she came around him—his fingers, his tongue, _him_ —that night was a revelation. So he can’t help but wonder how close she would come to the real sounds she makes in the throes of pleasure, and might this be the last time he hears it?

Alex smirks a little as she hears the question, and Matt bets her nonchalance has at least a little to do with the three tequila shots she downed this evening. Not that Alex was shy in this regard—she’d certainly never been shy about this sort of thing; far from it, actually, but when the prospect of truth or dare was brought up, Matt could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea, so to see her get _that_ dare and not even blanch, well.

Alex clears her throat, sitting up straight and crossing her legs underneath her, pressing her back flat into the chair. “I’ve never done this _not_ on a film set before—but I suppose I’ll give it a go.”

Andres gasps a little, “You’ve never...”

Alex winks at him, laughing, “No, honey, _never_ ,” She shakes her head, “I mean, where’s the fun in that?”

Everyone laughs, and Matt scowls a bit at Jack, who’s laughing just a bit too loudly and looking just a bit too interestedly at Alex, in Matt’s humble opinion.

Alex takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and then starts making noise. Slow, at first. Just little whimpers leave her mouth, a little wrinkle appearing between her brows as she concentrates. And then the whimpers and moans crescendo into an Academy Award-worthy performance wherein Matt discovers that Alex’s fake orgasms do in fact sound remarkably like her _real_ orgasms, and the realization sends a jolt of arousal through Matt’s body.

He shifts in his seat, wondering if it’s better or worse to look at Alex as she fake comes in a roomful of people. Matt takes a chance and looks at her – _worse_ , it’s definitely worse. Alex Kingston without a bra in a white shirt should be made bloody illegal. Her face is scrunched up in fake pleasure, and all Matt can see is the way she looked under him, over him, her face contorted in _real_ pleasure; pleasure that _he_ gave her. Matt shifts his gaze to Jack – _better_ , looking at Alex is definitely better. Jack is watching Alex with a very thinly veiled look of hunger that Matt immediately wants to smack from his stupidly handsome face.

Matt looks at Deni, who’s glaring at Alex, and then he looks at Sabrina, whose expression looks remarkably similar to Jack’s, and Matt finally decides that _nowhere_ is safe to look—he doesn’t even _want_ to see what Doug and Andres think of this whole thing—so he just presses his eyes shut, but that just makes Alex’s whimpers and moans and sighs that much more potent.

_And_ _was he a proper fucking criminal in a past life?_

He’s just contemplating plugging his ears, because he swears to every single god that may exist he’s about to come in his fucking jeans, when she finally, finally stops, and a slow round of applause breaks out. Matt finally opens his eyes and sees her smiling as she gives a little half-bow, opens her water bottle and takes a long drink.

Matt spends the rest of the game with a throw pillow partially covering his lap and vaguely wondering if the tag on the end of Viagra commercials that warned to call a doctor if an erection lasted _how long again_? applied to men who hadn’t, actually, taken Viagra.

By the end of the night, he knows more about the sex lives of his cast-mates than he ever wanted to. And he knows more about Alex Kingston’s sex life than he ever dared hope ( _weirdest place she’d had sex? A Ferris wheel, after a carnival had been closed for the night. How old was she when she lost her virginity? 17_.).

When all is said and done, Matt’s spent the entire evening half-hard, if not fully erect.

As he crawls into bed that night—Deni’s giving him the silent treatment—he bloody well _hates_ truth or dare. He thinks of Alex’s performance, of the way her breathy moans took him back to that night four years ago. Oh yes, he hates truth or dare.

By which he means, of course, that he loves it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Acting,” He finally sighs, “It was acting.” 
> 
> “Acting?” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because, I don’t know, Matt – it felt like…” She trails off, shaking her head. 
> 
> He tugs on his hair, “Felt like what, Alex?”
> 
> “Like…” Alex sighs, “I don’t know. Like you were trying to tell me something.” Her voice is quiet, and she isn’t looking at him now; she’s studying his collar, the way his shirt goes over the lapel of his suit. 
> 
> His thumb tightens against her chin and he soothes the spot with the pad of his thumb. He lets out a small breath of air, “What could I possibly ever say to you, Alex, that you could ever truly hear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, today is my birthday - and since this story is the only new thing I'm doing with my life right now, I thought I'd go ahead and post a chapter. 11k again, with no good way to break it up. Sorry about that.
> 
> Thanks for reading this story (if you are)!

Alex regrets that last tequila shot with every fiber of her being, but she is rather considering taking another one right now. At seven in the bloody morning. They’d all been up late playing the latest bonding game— _Never Have I Eve_ r—their first since second week’s Truth or Dare. It was the very start of the third week of filming, and everyone was finally starting to feel more relaxed around one another.

Even some of the tension between she and Matt had dissipated a bit, though they still weren’t spending any real time together on or off set. Something in that truth or dare game had loosened it a bit, whatever was wrong between them, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what it had been. Either way, she was glad of it. It made things a bit easier, fewer eggshells for each of them to avoid stepping on, it seemed.

This particular bonding game last night had somehow turned into a _drinking game_ though, and Alex was fairly certain she hadn’t had _that_ much tequila in over a decade. Still, she hadn’t been sloppy drunk—just happy and loose—and sure she’d shared a few inappropriate things with the group, but honestly, that was usually her sober, too. Just a regular Sunday in that regard. In a small group, on a national talk show – didn’t really matter. Besides, was it really _her fault_ if there were only a few things she hadn’t ever done? Is being adventurous – usually between the sheets – a crime? She rather thinks not.

The night was fun, though, which is something she hadn’t really anticipated.

Alex woke up with a hangover this morning, of course, but it was somehow not quite as bad as she’d thought. Probably thanks to Matt, Jack, and Sabrina feeding her Advil, several chicken nuggets, and what seemed at the time like her own body weight in water right before she went to bed. She vaguely recollects a bit of tension between Matt and Jack as they tucked her into bed, but she can’t really remember what all that was about, and maybe it’s for the best. She woke up still in her clothes from the night prior, and she tried to remember the last time _that_ had happened, too. Ages, at least.

Alex had Louis drop her off at a Starbucks down the street from the studio they are filming at today where she proceeded to order the biggest cup of coffee they had—she didn’t even know what a bloody _trenta_ looked like until today, but when the barista handed it to her, she swore she saw it glowing with a faint holy light. Barely refraining from confessing her undying love for the innocent barista who might as well have been wearing a halo as he handed it to her, Alex made her way out of the Starbucks and onto the street, quiet at the early hour, everyone else either still in bed or stuck in traffic crawling along the ridiculous freeways that grow more congested with each passing year.

She sits in hair and makeup now clutching the massive cup of half-gone coffee to her chest like it’s her long lost lover she thought she’d never see again. The way the caffeine is currently coursing through her body and making her feel very nearly human again, it feels like it is exactly that. The caffeine won’t do anything to calm her nerves, but with half a trenta or roughly 450 milliliters of coffee running through her system, staying calm just really isn’t an option for her at present, anyway. She vaguely wishes she had thought this through, maybe gone with a venti, grande, maybe even a tall, given what she’s about to do on set today. But it’s a bit too late for that, she thinks, so she takes another large gulp of her _trenta_ and swipes through her phone absent-mindedly and a bit impatiently.

She is to film a sex scene today. With Jack. Her first sex scene in a very long time, and damn the HBO nudity policy all to hell, she’s going to be completely _topless_ whilst doing it. She couldn’t be on an uptight American cable network that would barely let her show her bra—no. That would be all too easy.

No, she had to be on HBO – not scared of a breast or two, that network. Showing her breasts on-screen was nothing new for Alex, of course. Neither was a full frontal, for that matter. Hell, most people in the US and UK had probably seen her in some various state of undress by now. But that was a long time ago, her days of full frontals quite far in her rearview mirror these days. The last time she’d even gotten _just_ her breasts out on camera had been for _Marchlands_ , almost seven years ago now, and it had really just been a brief glance, a flash to the camera for anyone who just happened to be looking.

Sure, she paraded her breasts around on Moll without a care in the world, but she was a lot younger back then. So were her breasts, as a matter of fact.

So, as she sits in the makeup room wearing nothing but a robe and a hair tie, waiting for Maggie and the other makeup girls to arrive so that they can apply not only regular makeup, but _full body makeup_ , Alex is _nervous_. She loves her body, honestly, and she’s never been too terribly invested in what anyone else happens to think of it, but it’s still been a long time since she’s whipped the girls out in front of the camera, so she thinks she should forgive herself for the nerves that creep into her stomach.

Just as she shoots a text off to her friend, the door of the makeup room swings open. Alex turns, expecting to see a friendly face—Maggie, Victoria, Kristin—but what she sees instead is a hostile one. Deni. She saunters into the room actually not wearing a sundress, for once. Alex was beginning to wonder if the girl even owned other pieces of clothing.

Instead of a sundress today, Deni is wearing the tightest pants Alex has ever seen on a human paired with a pale pink what looks to be cashmere sweater. Her long blonde hair is twisted into a messy bun atop her head, and she’s got her sunglasses on. The girl looks flawless, and Alex can’t begrudge her for that, honestly. The girl’s spiteful attitude, on the other hand – well, that is an entirely different story.

“Oh,” Deni says, stuttering in her tracks a bit when she sees Alex, “I didn’t realize you’d be here. Early call?” She asks, taking a seat on the other side of the room from Alex.

There’s something about her tone that sets Alex on edge—there is a false note to it, something that Alex just doesn’t quite trust. And the girl doesn’t, actually, sound surprised at all to see her hear.

Alex nods once, “Yeah.”

Normally, here is where she’d make a self-deprecating remark about her hair, about hair and makeup needing hours to tame the beast– but she doesn’t want to do that around Deni. Any weakness shown, Alex knows, and Deni will pounce. The air in the room is thick between them; while the tension between Alex and the rest of the cast has decreased since week one, Alex’s tension with Deni has only increased. Infinite bonding games are not likely to change that, Alex knows.

Alex has decided that perhaps Matt is right – perhaps Deni _is_ jealous of her. Though she can’t for the life of her figure out quite _why_. Deni is young, beautiful, with the world at her feet – she will have a long and varied career, getting parts that Alex only dreamt of when she was younger. And, she has Matt. Alex tries very hard not to think about that part too much. The other stuff doesn’t really bother her – Alex loves her career, loves the parts she’s played. But the other thing – oh, that thing could break her, if she let it.

“Oh, that’s right,” Deni nods, “You’re shooting a sex scene today.” She puts her Louis Vuitton purse on the makeup counter in front of her, “They keep asking me to do one topless, _of course_ , but I just don’t know.” She sighs, shaking her head.

Alex smiles at her tightly, barely keeping her eye roll in check, “Well, what can I say? I’m easy.” She watches Deni, trying to figure out exactly what her game is this time.

Deni ignores Alex, taking her phone out and looking at it, her acrylic nails tapping against the glass of the screen rapidly. She lets out a little giggle, “Oh, _Matty_ ,” she whispers under her breath before she glances at Alex, “He’s so _naughty_.”

Alex recognizes the tone, and it stirs something inside of her – ignoring the ache in her chest at Deni’s words, Alex smirks, then drops her voice low, “Oh, I _know_.” She’s above playing most of Deni’s petty little games, but she simply couldn’t resist that particular one. Matt _is_ naughty, and Alex has had a first row seat for that little revelation. Helped him grow into it, in fact.

Deni glares at her and Alex can practically see the wheels turning in her head, but before Deni can formulate a snippy response, the door to hair and makeup swings open again. This time Alex _does_ see a friendly face—three of them, in fact, as Maggie, Victoria, and Kristin all breeze into the room in a flurry of purses and makeup bags.

Maggie smiles at Alex, “Oh, honey, I am so sorry we’re late! We carpooled today, and that old biddy Millie from wardrobe was driving, and let me tell you – they should revoke her _damn_ license. She’s too old to be drivin’, surely.”

Alex laughs, “Isn’t Millie your _younger_ sister?”

Maggie drops her bag on the floor and looks at Alex, her mouth opening in a dramatic gasp as she places her hand over her heart, “And here I thought we were _friends_!” Maggie ducks down and pulls a hairbrush out of her bag and waves it around threateningly at Alex, “If you’re not careful, I’ll use _this_ on you for your big scene today!”

Alex gasps, “You _wouldn’t_.”

Maggie sighs, putting the hairbrush on the counter and removing her hot tools from the bag, “Well, no, I wouldn’t.” She waves her hand around, “I’m much too nice for all of that. Who do you think I am? _Millie_ from Wardrobe?”

A giggle from the other side of the room breaks out, and Maggie looks horrified for a moment, before she turns to face Deni where she sits in the chair on the other side of the room. Feeling four sets of eyes on her, Deni turns, then holds up her phone.

“Oh, sorry.” She says, not looking the least bit sorry.

“What are you doing here, Deni?” Maggie asks, throwing her hands on her hips. Her tone sounds oddly suspicious, and Alex wings an eyebrow at Maggie, “Your call isn’t until noon today.”

Deni’s smile falters a bit, but she recovers fairly quickly, “I know – I just – I was – I have to do a few things to prepare for my scenes today, so I just thought I’d just hang out in here with you ladies!”

Maggie eyes her suspiciously, her eyes narrowed and sharp, “And do you also have a bridge you can sell me? Maybe some ocean-front property in Arizona?” Maggie whispers the questions under her breath quietly, so Deni can’t hear her from across the room. Maggie stares hard at Deni for a moment longer before she turns back to Alex.

Maggie smiles, rubbing her hands together, “Alright, let me at that glorious hair. I’ve had dreams about it, you know.”

Alex rolls her eyes, “Nightmares, more like,” She grumbles, and at Maggie’s stern look, she reaches up and pulls her hair tie from her haphazard ponytail. She tosses it on the counter in front of her, and then takes another drink of her coffee, draining the cup.

Maggie laughs, her fingers separating Alex’s curls, “Long night?”

Alex sighs, leaning forward and setting her empty coffee cup on the counter next to her hair tie, “Tequila.” Alex confirms, and Maggie nods knowingly.

Victoria and Kristin wheel their makeup cart over next to Alex, and she closes her eyes as the bright lights come on and the girls start setting up their brushes and makeup. They all chit-chat and joke with one another while Alex’s hair is curled and her makeup is applied, and Deni is so quiet Alex almost forgets she’s there for a bit, save for the occasional giggle or gasp that comes from her general direction.

It’s a bit relaxing, actually, being made up by such lovely people, and Alex finds the nerves in her stomach loosening a bit as she laughs and jokes with Maggie. Finally, her face and hair are done, and Alex opens her eyes to look at the finished product in the mirror.

“You three are bloody magicians.” Alex says, still looking at herself. Her hair is curly, but a bit wild. Her makeup is subdued, but she looks like she’s got that post-sex glow. Oh, it’s been a long while since she’s seen _that_ in a mirror. If only _makeup_ weren’t solely responsible for it this time.

Maggie laughs, unplugging her curling iron, “Nah,” She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture, “We had excellent raw material.”

“Now,” Maggie says, “I believe there are some other body parts that need to be made up for today’s shoot. Let’s have a quick look.” She quirks her eyebrow at Alex.

“Don’t remind me,” Alex murmurs. When Maggie just taps her foot impatiently, Alex laughs, bringing her hand to the knot of her robe; she unties it, and pulls it open.

Maggie’s eyes drop, “Yes, well, I can see why you’d want to show them off, darlin’.”

Alex starts to speak, but Deni—thankfully unable to see from her vantage point—interrupts, “You know, I hope when I’m your age, I still have the courage to show mine off. At all, I mean, not just on-camera.” Her voice sounds sincere, but Alex looks at the three women currently surrounding her and she knows that Deni isn’t fooling anyone. Kristin and Victoria exchange eye rolls with one another, and Maggie, for her part, just looks outright _angry_.

Maggie pulls Alex’s robe back up around her shoulders, then steps around the back of Alex’s chair to fully face Deni. Alex can’t see Maggie now, but her voice is stern and scolding when she speaks, her words clipped and harsh.

“Why don’t you go ahead and give us a little _privacy_ , Ms. Christmas?” Her tone makes it clear that it’s absolutely not a request and brokers no discussion.

Alex glances over her shoulder then and sees Deni huffing as she slides off the chair. Her heels click aggressively against the tile of the makeup room before the door slams angrily and loudly behind her. Maggie walks over to the door, shaking her head as she throws the lock.

As she walks back towards Alex, Maggie rolls her eyes, “That girl is insufferable, I swear.”

“Not a fan?” Alex asks, her brow arching up along with the question.

“To put it mildly.” Maggie turns around and busies herself with makeup, squeezing different colors of foundation onto a palette, mixing a few of them together to create different shades. “Don’t you _dare_ let her get in your head.”

“Oh, not to worry.” Alex shrugs her shoulders lightly, “I’m in my head enough about it, actually. Not really room up there for anyone else at the moment.” She smiles self-deprecatingly.

“Oh?” Maggie asks, bringing the palette and the makeup brushes to a small table in front of Alex, “And why is that?”

Alex sighs, “Maggie, It’s been rather a long time since anyone’s seen my bits.”

Maggie shakes her head and laughs, “No it hasn’t. I just saw ‘em, and I hope you and my husband forgive me saying, hon, but they’re _lovely_.” She finishes with a little wink.

Alex snorts, “I think you’ve been hanging around Matt Smith a bit too long.”

Maggie looks at her intently before a smirk spreads across her face, “Oh? Does _he_ find your breasts lovely, too, darlin’? Like to tell you so?”

Alex flushes instantly, “I didn’t – oh, I didn’t mean _that_ ; he hasn’t – he didn’t,” Alex trails off because actually, he _has_ , and he _did_ , “I just meant _flirting_.” Alex finishes, flustered.

“Yes, clearly.” Maggie replies, pursing her lips into an amused smile. “Alright, let’s get those lovely breasts of yours camera-ready, darlin’.”

Alex sighs and removes her robe, dropping it down around her waist. Maggie takes her time color-matching Alex’s skin, and then begins painting the makeup on. It’s a bit cold, and Alex shivers as Maggie laughs and apologizes. Whatever nerves had dissipated return full-force the closer Alex gets to being set-ready – her little slip up earlier made her remember exactly what happens at the end of the scene she’s shooting today, and that threaded the nerves through her stomach again quite without her consent.

When Maggie is done, she pulls Alex’s robe up around her shoulders, looping the tie securely around her waist.

“There.” Maggie says, “All ready.” She tucks her makeup brush in her waist pouch, “And lucky for you, you’re ready for set - you don’t have to see that loon in Wardrobe today! I should be so lucky.”

Alex shakes her head, laughing, then looks at the clock. She’s due on set exactly now. She heaves a sigh, thanks the makeup team, grabs her empty trenta cup and heads out to set, her robe wrapped tightly around her body. Her birkenstocks slide across the floor of the studio, and she’s thankful that it’s not as chilly in the studio this morning as it usually is in the late afternoons. All the bright lights and equipment frequently make the AC overcompensate – which is fine, when you’re actually filming under those bright lights, but a bit annoying when you’re waiting around.

She slides into the chair with her name on it, clutching her empty coffee cup with one hand as she tugs her robe down with the other to cover as much of her thighs as possible. She’s staring at the big bed in the middle of the set, replicas of classic paintings surrounding it on faux walls, when Jack sits down next to her.

“I could go broke asking for your thoughts, you know.”

Alex raises her eyebrows, not looking at him, “Big bed.”

Jack laughs, tilting his head back, “It is,” He leans in a bit closer to her, “They run out of buckets?” He asks, indicating the coffee cup still clutched to her chest like a security blanket.

“Shut up,” She says, tossing the cup at him – she laughs when it hits his chest and his mouth drops open in surprise. The coffee cup drops to the ground, its sound echoing a bit in the small area they’re in, and his eyebrows shoot up.

Jack pulls a face, “You are _mean_ when you’re hungover.” He chuckles at her withering stare, “So, what were you _really_ thinking, Alex?”

Alex turns to look at him; he’s wearing a navy blue terrycloth robe, much more substantial than the silk number she’s wearing, and she briefly wonders how he managed that. He’s got stubble across his jaw, and his dark hair doesn’t have any product in it. His blue eyes are shining at her – she doesn’t know why, but in that moment she decides that she trusts him. Which, she thinks, is good – since she’s about to strip down and film a sex scene with him.

She decides to answer him honestly, “I was just thinking how utterly _ridiculous_ this is.” She looks away from him then, looking at the big bed with crisp white sheets instead.

Jack grows quiet, “And why is that?”

She cuts him a look, and he brings his elbow up to the armrest of the director’s chair. He puts his chin in his hand and strokes his jaw in contemplation, the sound of the pads of his fingers rubbing over his stubble oddly comforting to her.

“ _Alex_.” He says her name gently, “Believe me when I tell you that _ridiculous_ is not a word anyone of sound mind would ever even use in the same vicinity as _you_ and a _sex scene_.”

Alex smiles at him gratefully. She doesn’t necessarily believe him, but she doesn’t want to harp on it too much, either – that’s really never been her style.

She’s about to change the subject when she sees Matt, dressed in a light blue fitted suit, a crisp white shirt under his jacket. He’s walking across the soundstage, his dress shoes shiny and reflecting the light in the studio. His hair is slicked back a little, but the front bit hangs across his forehead – he looks _good_ , and Alex feels a little pang of arousal shoot through her body, followed quickly by one of dread.

She’d known, of course, that Matt was going to be here – his character walks in on her sex scene with Jack, in what is slated to be a very uncomfortable and awkward moment. She’d expected to see him today – just _later_. She hadn’t known that he was apparently going to be here to watch her entire sex scene. Her body tenses at the thought, and her face must reflect her dread because Jack looks at her quizzically.

“Alright?” Jack questions, before following her gaze, which is still on Matt as he breezes across the soundstage directly towards them.

Alex clears her throat and smiles, trying desperately to make it reach her eyes, “Fine,” She turns to look at Jack, “I’m fine.”

Jack looks at her, a question in his eyes, but Alex doesn’t read it – even though she _knows_ what it is. The sound of Matt’s shoes squeaking against the floor draws her attention to his arrival, and she turns to look at him. If she’d thought he looked good halfway across the soundstage, it was nothing compared to how good he looks standing here in front of her now.

“Hello,” Matt says, acknowledging Jack before he leans in and presses a quick kiss to Alex’s cheek, “Good morning, Alex.”

“Is it?” Alex asks, raising her eyebrows slightly, “Might be a _bit_ better without all that tequila last night.” She sighs, “Hello, darling.”

Matt laughs, shaking his head, just as a PA calls for Jack. Jack slides out of his chair, bends down and picks Alex’s coffee cup off the floor and tosses it in the bin giving Alex a smile and a wink before he heads over to the PA.

Matt situates himself into the chair Jack just left and an awkward silence descends. He seems tense next to her, and she looks at him curiously. His eyes look a bit dark, and his face seems a bit clouded in something she can’t really read.

“I didn’t –”

“Alex –”

They start to speak at the same time, and they both stop, laughing a little.

“Go ahead,” Alex says, turning to look at him.

“No, please, go.” Matt replies, holding his hand out in front of him.

Alex gives him a small smile of thanks, “I didn’t realize you were going to be here.” She looks at him, “I mean, for the whole scene.”

Matt clears his throat, “Oh, right. Daniel asked if I could – if I would come early. I can – that is, would you like me to ask him if I can leave?”

Alex sighs, “No, no – don’t – don’t do that, darling, it’s fine.” She forces a laugh out, but it sounds wrong even to her ears, “Nothing you haven’t seen before, anyway.” She drops her gaze to her lap, “Nothing the whole of England hasn’t seen before, either, actually.” She wrings her hands in her lap, watching her hands turning over one another nervously. She hates herself for how quiet her voice sounds now.

Matt doesn’t laugh the way she expects him to. Instead, he reaches his hand out and covers both of hers with one of his. His touch feels warm and electric and she gasps a little at the contact.

“Not _quite_ the same, I don’t think.” His voice is serious, somber, and it makes her look at him. She drags her eyes from her lap, and he’s staring at her, his eyes searching her face – looking for something. “You’re _beautiful,_ Alex.”

“Matt, I – ”

His grip over her hands tightens, “Just let me say this, okay?” He waits for her permission – when she nods, he continues, “You’re beautiful and _so bloody_ sexy and I swear to you, Alex, that is _all_ anyone who ever sees this – now, or on telly later – is going to be thinking.” His thumb soothes the back of her hand for just a moment before he squeezes her hands one more time and then pulls away.

“Thank you.” She whispers, quietly. She hates feeling like this – insecure. She’d spent so much of her early life feeling this way, so long trying to stamp it out, that she hates it all the more when it creeps up on her. She hates that Matt was so readily able to read it on her face, too, but she is still thankful for his words.

Matt clears his throat, “And I _will_ leave if you want me to.”

She shakes her head, “No,” She almost doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice, “It’s fine. You can stay.”

She smiles at him, and he smiles back, but there’s something off about it. She looks at him curiously, trying to decipher what it is, but before she can put her finger on it, Daniel breezes on to set with a flurry of PAs behind him as seems to be his way.

“Alex! Jack!” Daniel calls, standing directly in front of the bed, “Let’s discuss!”

Alex slides off her chair, making sure her robe doesn’t creep too high up her thighs. “Well,” She turns back to Matt, “Here goes, I guess.” She rolls her eyes a bit, making a funny face, and Matt does laugh this time.

When she reaches Jack and Daniel, they discuss the elements of the sex scene at hand; they iron out some of the logistics and mechanics of how filming this will go. Daniel wants Alex on top to start, possibly the whole way through, and he wants it to feel frantic but still tender and loving.

Daniel makes sure both Alex and Jack know they can stop immediately if anything feels too uncomfortable, or if they just need a break for whatever reason. Daniel will call out instructions as he sees fit, if he wants more of something or less of something, but he’d like them to just sort of go for it.

They wait by the bed as lighting rigs up and sound gets into position, and Alex resists the urge to look back at Matt as they wait, focusing instead on the hustle and bustle around her.

Maggie comes over to Alex just before it’s time to go; She rakes her fingers through Alex’s hair – as much as she can, given the curls, making it look just a bit more wild to give the illusion that Alex’s character has been romping in bed with her estranged husband. Never mind the fact that Alex can’t remember the last time she romped in bed with anyone but herself – well, actually, she _can_ remember the last time. She can’t quite forget it, actually, but she can’t think about that now.

“Places!” Daniel shouts, and Alex takes a deep steadying breath as she makes her way to the bed.

Jack shrugs his robe off, and Alex tries very hard not to let her eyes linger on his broad muscular bare chest. He’s wearing black boxer briefs, and he slips into the bed and under the white top sheet. He holds it open for her and per Daniel’s stage direction, she climbs on top of him, straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips.

With Alex and Jack in position, Daniel calls out a few lighting instructions and the lighting technicians make the required changes. When he’s satisfied with the way they are lit, Daniel steps back behind the camera, “Alex, robe!” He calls out, but his voice sounds oddly gentle – _Jesus Christ_ , she thinks, _does everyone know this is bloody hard for her_?

Alex’s hands move to the knot at her waist and she unties it, doing her best to ignore the fact that her hands are shaking a bit. Maggie steps up next to her, placing a soothing hand on her back. Alex smiles, then shrugs the robe from her shoulders and closes her eyes. Maggie takes it from her, then stands by while Daniel calls out a few more lighting instructions. Alex feels the nerves in her stomach, and she doesn’t want to open her eyes – she can feel the awkward tension between she and Jack, and she hates how self-conscious she feels in this moment. She opens her eyes and fixes her gaze on Maggie, refusing to look anywhere else.

While Daniel barks out final instructions for the lighting techs, Maggie leans in between Jack and Alex, whispering conspiratorially, “Aren’t those just the _loveliest breasts_ you’ve ever seen?”

Alex’s eyes widen but Maggie just smiles, looking expectantly at Jack.

Jack splutters a bit before he barks out a laugh, “Yes,” He agrees, shaking his head at Maggie, “I rather think that they are.”

Maggie slings Alex’s silk robe over her arm before she winks at Alex, “Told ya, hon.”

And just like that, the tension is broken. Alex looks at Jack, laughing softly as she shakes her head, rolling her eyes a bit. Jack grins at her as Maggie steps away. When Daniel is finally satisfied with the lighting, the rapid-fire call out begins, and Alex takes a deep breath, her hand resting lightly on Jack’s chest. He brings his hand up to gently touch her wrist.

“Hey,” He whispers, and her eyes focus on his, “Just you and me here, okay?”

She smiles at him and nods once, grateful, “Okay.”

“Action!”

Alex and Jack look at each other for a split second before Jack lifts his head up – she meets him half way and kisses him. His hands slide up into her hair and his lips feel soft against hers, in perfect contrast with the roughness of the stubble across his face. She might be on top, but Jack is taking control of the kiss, and she’s thankful for that, actually, because it allows her to turn her brain off and just _feel_ , which is how she’d always preferred to do sex scenes.

When Jack opens his mouth against hers, she follows suit, and she feels his tongue slide into her mouth. He tastes like spearmint, and he’s actually quite a good kisser, so as his tongue explores her mouth, she finds herself moaning a bit as her fingernails scrape lightly across his chest, running through the hair he has there.

“Good, Alex,” She hears Daniel say from behind the camera, “Jack, move to her neck,” He instructs.

Jack follows the instruction, kissing her once more, and then pulling away – Alex whimpers at the loss, an action that draws yet more praise from Daniel. Jack plants kisses along her jaw, until he gets to her neck.

“What if you – okay, tug her head back a bit by her hair,” Daniel directs.

Jack tightens his fingers in her hair, his grip still loose, and tugs her head back, exposing her neck to him. She gasps a bit and Daniel gives more praise. Jack bends his head and kisses her, his tongue darting out to taste her neck over her pulse point. Alex threads her fingers through his hair, holding his mouth against her.

“Alex, move your hips a little, if you can – like you’re… yes, that’s it, perfect.”

Alex moves her hips a bit, so it looks like she’s well and truly riding him – she’s suddenly very conscious of the fact that she’s only in her knickers and he’s only in his briefs, but she just concentrates on the feel of his tongue against her neck, his breath against her skin.

She’s always rather enjoyed filming love scenes – but they can frequently be rote and mechanical, depending on the director, but Daniel’s essentially giving she and Jack free rein, which makes it a bit more comfortable. She’s been in her head enough about this, so now that she’s in the middle of it, she just lets it all go – the insecurity, the self-consciousness – and _acts_ ; she’s not Alex, she’s her character, and her character is rather enjoying her estranged husband’s lips on her body.

Alex works her hips a bit more and Jack reacts, his kisses to her neck stopping as he gasps against her skin.

“Good, guys, really good.” Daniel calls out, “Jack, kiss her sternum now.”

Jack complies, kissing his way down her neck and along her collarbone, his hands still tangled in her hair. His lips brush against the skin of her sternum, and her fingers scrape along his scalp and down his neck.

“Alex, go ahead and arch your back a bit.”

Alex arches her back, essentially pressing her chest directly into Jack’s face.

“Wow,” Daniel says, “That looks so great on camera, keep going. Jack – can you – go ahead and cup her breast now – hand closest to the camera.”

Jack’s left hand slides out of her hair, trailing down her face, neck; the backs of his fingers trail along the outside of her breast before his hand turns and covers her breast completely. His hands are rougher than she anticipated, and she gasps a little at the contact. Jack kisses his way back up her sternum until he’s at her mouth again, his tongue slipping into her mouth as his hand moves over her breast.

“Oh, that’s really brilliant,” Daniel interjects, “Keep doing that – just like that - perfect, you two.”

They keep at it for a few moments, just making out, Jack touching her as Daniel instructs from the sideline.

“Okay, can you – Jack, shift her a bit so you’re on the edge of the bed, and we can see her face kind of over your shoulder?”

Jack sits up, his hands gripping Alex’s waist as he positions them so that his legs are falling over the side of the bed. “Like this?” Jack asks, turning over his shoulder to look at Daniel.

“Yes, exactly – okay, Alex, go ahead and – can you pretend to climax now? And when you do, can you say – yes, say his name. Jack, just let her take the lead on this part – just follow what she does.”

Alex bites her lip and nods – thinking about how she’d practiced this just the other week during truth or dare. She tips her head back, Jack’s hand finding her breast again and she moans up at the ceiling before she drops her head back down and kisses him, her tongue sliding into his mouth this time, tasting him.

She moves her hips again, mimicking sex, and then starts moaning - the sound long and drawn out, her fingers clutching at his back. Her fingernails dig into his skin as she increases the intensity of her moans. Finally, she leans her head forward and bites his shoulder and he gasps at that – she cries out, her teeth still digging into his flesh as her fingers clutch at his skin of his back. He encourages her, murmuring words near her ear – she’s not sure they’ll even be picked up by the mics surrounding them, but she appreciates the attention to detail all the same.

“Jack!” She finally shouts, then collapses against him, breathing heavily, his arms wrapped around her, her bare chest pressed into his.

“Cut!” Daniel shouts, “That was – that was just brilliant, guys. I think – yeah, I think we have enough here.”

Alex looks over Jack’s shoulder to see Daniel – he’s smiling, clearly pleased with their take, and she’s just about to drop her gaze when she sees Matt. He’s looking directly at her, his nostrils flared, his eyes dark as they bore directly into hers.

She feels an involuntary shudder ripple through her body at the way he’s looking at her.

“You okay?” Jack asks.

She pulls back to look at him, forces herself to smile, though her knees feel a little weak. “Yeah,” She nods, “Fine.”

Jack smiles, then goes to help her off of him. She puts her bare feet down on the floor and Maggie comes over, helping her slip her robe on. Alex thanks her, then ties a hasty knot with the sash.

When she looks up again, Matt is still watching her, his expression dark – Alex feels her stomach turn over on itself as she meets his eyes – his gaze equal parts desire, anger, and something else she pretends she doesn’t see or can’t name.

x

 _What is the worst kind of criminal you can possibly be_? Matt wonders, because that is exactly what he had to have been in a past life. If he thought the nights of truth or dare and never have I ever were difficult, they sodding pale in comparison to the experience he’s having on set today.

He’s watching Alex film a sex scene – a rather graphic sex scene with a man that for some reason most women find very, very attractive. A man who is very obviously interested in Alex, which isn’t really a surprise to Matt, because most men are interested in Alex, honestly.

When Daniel had asked Matt to come to set early, Matt had agreed – thinking he could maybe keep an eye on things, make sure everything was on the up and up. _Oh,_ things were on the up and up, alright. _His things_. And he’d certainly managed to keep his eye on things – things that belonged to Alex, that is. Matt realizes now that he really hadn’t thought this through – he didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he agreed to any of this.

What he was getting into was seeing another man’s hands, lips, mouth all over Alex Kingston, and Matt rather hated the sight of it.

Still, seeing her like that turned him on; he just couldn’t seem to help it. He was brought back to their night together, and all he could hear was her breath in his ear as she came. During the scene, Matt was gripping the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles were white. By the time it was over, he was filled with so much desire and rage it felt like the emotions were warring within him, and he didn’t know which one was going to win. He wanted to get up from his seat and _kiss_ Alex senseless and then smack the ever-living hell out of Jack.

Jack – whose character’s name also just so happened to _be Jack_. And what were the bloody chances of _that_ , honestly? Just another bit of proof that the Universe was punishing Matt – for what, he did not know, but the punishment was being doled out with excruciating precision. Not only did Matt have to watch Alex film a sex scene with another man, he had to watch Alex pretend to come, half-naked, with another man’s name on her lips.

 _HBO and their liberal nudity policy can go straight to hell, as far as Matt Smith is concerned_. He ought to find the people responsible and give them a stern talking-to, honestly. It’s because of their lax morals that Matt had to sit here today and watch the woman he lo- well. Why he had to watch what he had to watch today.

God, but even pretending to fuck another man, Alex is the most erotic thing Matt has ever seen.

When he’d arrived on set, he could tell she was nervous – like she had any reason to be. Like she isn’t the most erotic woman he’s ever met.

Alex looks at him when it’s over, her eyes meeting his, not expecting to find him watching her. As though he could look anywhere else _but_ at her after that performance. Her mouth drops open in surprise, and he knows he must look wounded and brooding, but he can’t bloody well help it. The woman does things to him when she’s fully clothed in some ridiculous outfit that swallows her whole, let alone like _this -_ even if it is on a set, she affects him. Maybe it’s unprofessional, but it’s _Alex_ , and he can’t help that, either.

Matt watches Alex and Jack after Daniel calls cut. Jack helps her off of him, his hand darting out to steady her at the waist as she puts her robe back on. Matt can hear their tinkling laughter, and he feels a wave of jealousy—the fifth one in as many minutes, actually—wash over him. _He_ wants to be the only one who makes her laugh like that; he wants to be the only one who has his hands on her breasts. And if he’s jealous over a bit of acting, he doesn’t really stop to think about the logistics of that.

Alex cinches her robe in place, and then she catches his eye again.

He’d meant to school his expression before she caught sight of him again, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t keep the jealousy out of his eyes, he can’t keep the desire out of his eyes, he damn sure can’t keep the anger out of his eyes, and he can’t keep the _love_ out of his eyes, either. So, he just doesn’t try. He just lets her see it all, for a split second.

Alex looks away, biting that lip that was just pressed against another man’s mouth, and Matt closes his eyes, remembers her lips against every part of _him_ instead. He bites back a groan and opens his eyes again.

Daniel steps from behind the camera, a smile on his face. He praises Jack and Alex for a job well done, then turns to face Matt.

“Just need to film the interruption scene now,” He says, “Give us a few minutes to reset.”

Alex and Jack, now clad in their robes, make their way back over to where Matt sits now; Matt scowls when he notices Jack’s hand on the small of Alex’s back, guiding her around the bed and through the set. Alex’s hair looks wild, and the closer she gets, the more Matt can see how red her face is from where Jack was kissing her, his stubble rubbing up against her face.

Yet another reason Matt should be the only one kissing her. It’s safer.

When they get to where Matt is, Jack finally drops his hand from Alex’s lower back, and Matt feels like he can breathe again. Alex and Jack pick up their respective water bottles, both taking sips. Matt sits in silence, unsure of what to say – was a sex scene something you could really compliment? ‘ _Hey, nice pretend shagging, you two_.’ ‘ _Fantastic job, Alex, you made me very hard_.’

Best to not say anything, then.

Jack excuses himself for a moment leaving Matt and Alex alone. She slides up into the director’s chair next to him and looks at him. He doesn’t look back at her, just clears his throat a bit and picks imaginary lint from his trousers.

He hears Alex sigh, “Well?” She asks, and his head snaps up to look at her.

She’s biting her lip, and he can see the uncertainty in her eyes – oh, lord help him, the last thing he wanted his silence to communicate to her was that her sex scene didn’t read well.

“Looks like I was right.” Matt says, grinning at her, “Anyone who watches that will have only two thoughts in mind: how beautiful and sexy you are.” He laughs, “Okay, maybe three. How _bloody lucky_ Jack is.”

Alex rolls her eyes, snorting, “I’m sure.”

Matt nods, “I _am_ sure.”

Alex looks at him then, her face serious, “Thanks, Matt.” She whispers, and he knows she’s talking about earlier.

“Hey, no problem.” Matt replies, smiling at her. And there’s so much more to say, but he can’t say any of it because Jack is heading back towards them and Matt knows the words would get lost in his throat if he tried to speak them, anyway.

Just as Jack walks back across set, Daniel calls Matt and Alex over – the three of them chat about the logistics of the _interruption_ as lighting and sound re-set. When tech is ready, Matt stands by the thin stage door, watching as Alex and Jack reset.

‘Reset’ in this particular instance, much to Matt’s eternal chagrin, involves Alex disrobing and climbing astride another man—a man who isn’t _him_ —in just her knickers. Matt grits his teeth, watching as Jack’s hands grip Alex’s hips to help hold her in place. Matt hones in on the contact, feeling a sense of anger and injustice bubbling up within him at another man touching his Alex.

Or, you know, Alex. Not like he’s really ever been able to separate those two in his head. Even before their night together, he started thinking of her as _his_ , if he’s honest.

The only man Matt ever wants to see Alex astride, especially when she’s half-naked, is _himself_.

Daniel moves behind the camera, peers down at the monitor, then calls out a lighting change.

“Jack, Alex, _action_!” Daniel calls.

Matt watches helplessly as Alex falls back into her character, moaning and writhing on Jack’s lap. As he watches, Matt can feel his blood begin to boil—he rather thought they’d gotten enough footage of this particular part. It should be his turn to enter the scene and interrupt any time now. Matt taps his foot impatiently, each second the scene goes on drawing him closer and closer to madness. He can feel the little vein in his forehead itching, and he knows his blood pressure must be through the roof. Jack’s hand reaches up to cup Alex’s breast and she throws her head back and Matt sees red.

“Matt, _action_!” Daniel instructs.

Matt launches into action and he throws the prop door wide open, it’s sound loud in the quiet soundstage. He makes his way to the dresser, per Daniel’s stage direction, but stops midway at Alex’s character’s gasp.

He watches Alex scramble off of Jack’s lap, grabbing a white sheet from the bed to wrap around her body. The prop sheet is _thin_ and he can still see her full breasts, the outline of her dusky nipples through the sheet. She walks over to him, delivering her line as she goes, stopping in front of him on her mark.

It’s his cue to speak, but he takes a beat, his eyes still lingering on her chest. He finds himself leaning into her a bit more closely, his voice husky as he speaks his line.

“ _I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just needed to grab… this.”_ Matt indicates the prop sitting on top of the dresser.

Alex’s answering line sounds breathy, like she just spent a considerable amount of time exerting herself, and Matt has to bite back a groan, imagining her exerting herself over him, over and over and over him until she can’t talk, can’t _walk_. He wants to destroy her, in the best possible way. He suddenly wants the answers to questions he never asked – he wants to know if that morning she left his flat she could feel where he’d been between her thighs, if she had felt sore in the days that followed, and if she’d thought of _him_ and touched herself between her legs, the sweet ache reminding her of just precisely where he’d been.

Alex—or Alex’s character, he doesn’t bloody know, and he doesn’t bloody care right now—bites her lip, clutching the sheet tighter around her body, and he can still _see_ her breasts through the sheet. Matt feels the arousal flood through his body, and his gaze darkens as he leans in and delivers his line. He’s halfway through when Daniel interrupts him.

“ _Cut_!” Daniel steps from behind the camera and makes his way over to where Matt and Alex stand. “Okay, this is good, guys, but Matt – can you – can you try it with a little, no _a lot_ less anger. Think – more mortified, more aversion here, okay? Like – horrified, maybe?” Daniel leans in, “And like 90 percent less lust, okay?” Matt nods, and Daniel claps his hands, “Okay, let’s reset, people!”

Reset, again, means half-naked Alex climbing on half-naked Jack, and Matt tries to bite back his anger, he really does, but this is the third _fucking_ time he’s seen this today, and every time it gets harder. And not in the pleasant way. Well, a _bit_ in the pleasant way, because Alex is half-naked and bloody gorgeous. But, each time he sees it, it settles the anger deeper and deeper into his veins, and as he watches Alex writhe over Jack _again_ , he forgets to try to calm himself.

“Matt, _action_!”

Matt does the scene again, dialing back the lust, allowing the image of Alex straddling another man to linger in his mind as he runs through the scene.

“ _Cut_!” Daniel says, and at his words, Matt feels some of the anger slip out of his body. _Oops_. He’d not meant to play it like that.

Matt looks at Alex, and her eyes are wide, her nostrils flared out a bit. Matt looks at Daniel; his hand is covering his mouth, and he’s chatting to his first AD who is sitting in the chair next to him. With a nod, Daniel moves from behind the camera.

“Matt,” Daniel holds a finger up and beckons Matt to him.

Matt walks over to where Daniel stands, ready for a tongue-lashing. Matt’s never been one to be unprofessional, never been one to allow his personal life to bleed over into his work, but apparently when it comes to Alex Kingston, he can’t quite control himself. Oh, if that wasn’t the bloody theme of his life.

“Daniel, look, I’m sorry – ” Matt starts, but Daniel cuts him off.

“Look, Matt – can we… Okay. Let’s just do this. Do _one take_ my way – just bumbling daughter’s boyfriend who is grabbing something from a dresser, okay? You do that, and then we’ll do one take completely your way – you can, you can let whatever you feel move you into action, whatever you want, okay?”

Matt swallows – that is really, really fair, and Matt tells Daniel as much.

As Daniel calls for another reset, Matt doesn’t look at Alex and Jack—he can’t do that and get through Daniel’s take. And Matt really, really wants to do his own take – he wants to take everything he’s been feeling for the past two hours, everything he’s been feeling for the past four years and put it into this character.

He keeps his head down, staring intently at his feet, barely resisting the urge he has to plug his ears against Alex’s breathy moans. If he messes this take up, who knows how many times he’ll have to endure this, which is incentive enough.

When Daniel calls action again, Matt makes a beeline for the dresser, bumbling his way through his lines—he doesn’t quite manage to look horrified—the sight of Alex Kingston is just too bloody good. He does, however, manage to be completely aloof and awkward, and it leaves Daniel pleased and laughing at his performance.

“That was great, Matt,” Daniel praises, “Really great.” Daniel looks at him, “You earned your take. Whatever you want, man. However you want to play it.” Daniel looks at everyone milling about, “Alright, everyone, we’re gonna reset one more time.” Daniel claps Matt on the back, “Matt’s gonna have a take.”

Alex and Jack reset, and this time Matt watches every single move they make – he watches Alex’s thighs, so smooth and creamy, where they touch with Jack’s. He watches the column of Alex’s neck as she throws her head back, moaning. He watches Jack’s hands slide up her smooth stomach to cup her breasts, watches his thumbs ghost over her nipples.

Daniel, Matt suspects, is letting this go on a bit longer than the previous times, waiting a bit longer to give Alex her cue to come. When Daniel finally directs – _now, Alex_ – Matt is _seething_ , his own body burning every single place Alex is touching Jack’s bare skin.

Matt watches Alex drop her head forward to Jack’s shoulder, watches her dig her fingernails into Jack’s back, watches her bite down on Jack’s shoulder and pretend to come, moaning around Jack’s flesh in her mouth. Except this time, when her fake orgasm—the one she does so very, very well—washes over her, she’s looking right at _Matt_.

“Matt, _action!_ ”

Matt stalks through the door this time, still acting surprised at having accidentally walked in on Alex and Jack’s characters directly post-coitus. But as Alex wraps the sheet around herself, as he gets another thinly veiled view of her lovely breasts up close, Matt infuses his words with anger and something he’d been carrying around for her for bloody years: _longing_.

By the time the last line of the scene arrives—his—the tension between he and Alex is thick, Matt can feel it, and he can see Jack watching with a quiet intensity from where he still sits on the edge of the bed. Alex is looking up at Matt, her eyes wide and a bit wet, and she drags her teeth across her bottom lip as she waits for him to deliver his final line. He takes his time with it and leans in, his face inches from hers, his eyes traveling over her face before his gaze flicks down to her lips then back up again.

When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with gravel, and she shuts her eyes.

The set is silent for a long moment before Daniel whispers _cut_.

At the word, the set springs to life again, the momentary spell broken as Maggie ushers Alex into her robe – Alex isn’t looking at Matt as she cinches it across her waist.

Matt looks at Jack who is slipping into his terrycloth robe, and the older man is staring back at him, a spark of curiosity in his too-blue eyes. Matt runs a shaky hand through his hair, then turns on his heel and starts walking towards his dressing room on legs that feel even more unsteady than usual.

“ _Nice take,_ Matt!” He hears Daniel call to him as he moves past.

Matt’s stomach is in knots, his heart thrumming in his chest, and his vision is a bit blurry as he moves across the set, making sure to put one foot in front of the other. He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, doesn’t know he’s being followed until he feels a small hand grasp at his elbow, slowing him down, pulling on it until he turns around.

Matt turns and sees Alex, her hair adorably mussed, her silk robe tight across her ample chest, her nipples still pebbled from the cool air in the studio or the exhilaration of what had just happened or perhaps a bit of both.

“Matt,” She whispers his name, and he can’t remember the last time he loved the sound of his name so much. She notices the direction of his gaze, then glances down, pulling her robe slightly away from her body, “What _was_ that?”

Matt drags his eyes back up to hers, “Daniel gave me a take, and I took it.”

“Yes, Matt,” She speaks through clenched teeth, “I know _that_. But – what – what the hell _was_ that?”

Matt sighs, a weight settling itself in his limbs – he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what that was except a confession of everything he’s kept inside the past few years, and he can’t very well say _that_ – not to Alex, not _now_. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling a bit more roughly than he needs to.

“Acting,” He finally sighs, “It was _acting_.”

Matt notices the way her eyebrows rise up, challenging him.

“Acting?” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because, I don’t know, Matt – it felt like…” She trails off, shaking her head.

He tugs on his hair, “Felt like _what,_ Alex?”

She glances down and away before looking back at him again, “Nothing.”

“Like _what_ , Alex?” He repeats his question, his voice rough.

“Like…” Alex sighs, “I don’t know. Like you were trying to tell me something.” Her voice is quiet, and she isn’t looking at him now; she’s studying his collar, the way his shirt goes over the lapel of his suit.

Matt sighs, staring at her, willing her to look at him. When she doesn’t, he tucks his thumb under her chin and lifts her face up so that her eyes meet his. And they’re that same blue-green he fell so deeply into the first time he ever met her—they’re this impossible color that changes with her mood, with what she’s wearing, with how she’s feeling. He’s seen her eyes in every possible state by now: he’s seen them in joy, in sorrow, in hope, in fear, in _ecstasy_.

They look to him now the same way they did that morning in his flat and it fills him with a dull ache that radiates through his body, through his limbs until it feels like the only thing that courses through him is the doubt she carries with her—the pain, the past trauma.

His thumb tightens against her chin and he soothes the spot with the pad of his thumb. He lets out a small breath of air, “What could I possibly ever say to you, Alex, that you could ever truly _hear_?”

He lets his thumb caress her chin once more and then he lets go, giving her a sad smile before he turns on his heel and heads back to his trailer. He tries not to think about the look on her face, tries not to think about the sound of her voice, about the blue-green of her eyes, the ones that will forever haunt his dreams, whether he’s awake or asleep.

Matt sits in his trailer, trying to clear his mind, trying to evict Alex, at least for a day – for a minute, for an hour he tries not to think about her. He closes his eyes as he sits on the couch of his trailer, his head falling back, but all he can see is Alex – Alex on their night together, Alex the day they first met, Alex straddling another man, her breasts in his face, his hands on her skin.

“ _Fuck_ ,” He breathes out, scrubbing a hand down his face.

By the time he’s back at the shared house, Matt feels on edge—he has been for hours. It’s late—he may or may not have procrastinated on set talking to as many people as he could before he finally had to leave. Deni had left early on for some photo-shoot with _Vogue_ , and he’d spent the rest of the time in his trailer, memories both recent and old playing in his mind on loop until he thought he might go insane.

As his key clicks in the lock, he says a silent prayer that midnight is late enough for everyone else to be asleep, but somehow knowing that he won’t be that lucky; he never is. Thank however many past lives for that, he guesses.

When Matt gets in the foyer, the sound of Alex’s laughter hits him full force and he grits his teeth, stopping—he _loves_ that sound, doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without it, how he’ll continue to live without it after filming is over.

He peeks around the corner into the living room and sees Alex, Jack, and Sabrina sitting by a fire—Alex’s head is tilted back, and she laughs again as Sabrina leans forward, whispering something near her ear. Matt feels the jealousy crawl up his spine, feels it settle in the base of his skull, egging on the powerful headache he’d had brewing for hours.

Matt sees Deni and Andres in the kitchen, shot glasses in front of them, a song playing from Bluetooth speakers in the background. Bracing himself, he steps around the corner – as if on cue, Deni squeals, hurling herself off the counter and racing out of the kitchen and into his arms.

“Baby!” She says, looping her arms around his neck, “You’re _back_! I ought to talk to Daniel about your long hours!” She laughs, pulling back and running a thumb over his bottom lip, “A girl has _needs_.” She giggles, standing up on her toes to kiss him. She slides her tongue into his mouth and she tastes like vodka and Brie, and it’s the first time all day he hasn’t thought about Alex, so he slides his arms around her lower back, his hands creeping up her shirt until his palms are flat against the her bare flesh. His fingers trace over her lower spine. She feels warm and pliant beneath his mouth and she sighs into him, moaning softly against his mouth.

When he pulls back, smiling just a bit as he glances over Deni’s shoulder, he catches Alex just as she darts her gaze away, looking into the fire instead. Her smile is gone as she watches the flames, and the nerves return full-force to Matt’s stomach as he watches her in the firelight. Her hair glows, the flames casting their shadows across her curls. She brings her elbow up to the arm of the chair, dropping her chin in her open palm as she stares at the flames, scarcely even blinking. She looks beautiful in repose, even in sadness, and Matt’s heart aches at the sight. Sabrina says something to her and she smiles into the flames, turning to look at Jack when he speaks, nodding a bit as she reaches for her bottle of water and takes a drink.

After a moment, she leans in and murmurs something to Sabrina and Jack, then stands and heads for her room, her gait quiet and slow— _melancholy_ —as she pads across the floor, into her room where she shuts the door behind her.

She doesn’t look at Matt once.

He stares at Alex’s closed door and wonders how many more he’ll have to stare at, and when precisely he’ll stop looking. He can only see the door of his flat, even staring at _this_ door now.

“Maaaatty,” Deni’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he turns to look at her. She’s staring at him, a somewhat icy look in her eyes, and he dimly realizes that she’d just seen him staring at Alex. Again. “Come have a drink,” She says, pouting a bit as she tugs on his arm, leading him towards the kitchen. Her blonde hair falls down her back and he can smell the floral scent of her shampoo; it’s too thick and cloying for him, but he follows her anyway.

Deni leads him into the kitchen where Doug and Andres stand; she presses an open bottle of beer into his hand and he lifts it, taking a drink. He’d never really enjoyed American beer, but he takes a longer pull, anyway, letting the taste linger on his tongue. He sits at the kitchen island for a while, listening to the conversation around him, but his mind is wandering – he lets it go where it always goes, if given a choice.

Alex had looked so sad as she made her way to her room tonight. Anyone else might have missed it, but Matt didn’t. He could see the melancholy in her eyes as she passed by, pointedly avoiding his gaze, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Matt _knows_ what she saw, watched the smile fall from her face as she saw it, watched her withdraw into herself in a matter of moments.

He’d done that, he’d caused it, and he never wanted to hurt her – not _ever_.

Matt’s reverie is broken when he feels a hand wrap around his forearm and he turns to see Deni—her eyes are dark, boring into his, and he knows she’s rounding tipsy and heading straight for drunk because he’s seen it before. She giggles at him, walking her fingers up his arm before she leans in to his face, her breath on his lips as she whispers.

“Let’s go to bed.” She flutters her eyes and tugs on his wrist.

Matt lets her lead him to their bedroom, her narrow hips swaying in front of him. When they’re in the room, she closes the door, and then pushes him up against it, her tongue sliding into his mouth. She tastes like vodka now, pure and simple, and it throws him off a bit. Still, he kisses her back, eager to forget everything that happened today, everything that happened years ago, just – everything. He brings his hands to her shoulders and kisses her back as a delighted hum escapes her throat.

She pulls back, smiling, “Matty?” She asks, her voice breathless, “Make love to me?” She leans forward and ghosts her lips across his.

Her request jars him and he pulls back a bit, the back of his head hitting the door with a soft thud. He closes his eyes and the only thing he can see is Alex astride Jack – his eyes fly open, “Deni,” He sighs, “Look, I’m knackered.”

Deni sighs, “Okay, _fuck me_ , then.” She pouts, “Quick and hard?”

Matt runs his hand through his hair – “Deni…” He trails off, running out of excuses – of logical reasons _not_ to fuck his girlfriend. He pretends he doesn’t know the real reason he’s avoiding it; he pretends that the _real_ reason isn’t only a very thin wall away from him right now.

Deni looks at him, then leans forward and presses a kiss to his neck – her breath is hot on his skin, “Oh, come _on_ , Matt,” She says, nipping at his skin. Her hands dance along the waist of his jeans, “Come _on_ ,” She whispers, dropping to her knees in front of him.

Maybe a blowjob is just what he needs—maybe he needs to just close his eyes and forget everything; maybe her mouth on him will help him erase everything he saw today from his mind.

With a sigh, willing to try anything, Matt closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the door for support, his hands gripping her shoulders.

Deni makes quick work of the button and his fly, pulling his jeans and pants down over his hips.

Matt feels hot breath at his tip, and his pulse quickens in anticipation – _yes_ , he thinks, _finally_. When her warm mouth envelops his head, he lets out a groan, and he can feel a name on the tip of his tongue as he slides a bit further into her mouth. His hands move from her shoulders up to her hair, and as soon as he rakes his fingers through it, he freezes. Where he had been expecting _curls_ , there had been none – his eyes fly open; he drops his head and he sees Deni, kneeling before him, her mouth around him. Not Alex.

He swears softly, grabbing Deni gently by her shoulders and pushing her back – “Deni, I –” He doesn’t look at her as he helps her up, pulling his pants up over himself, “I’m sorry – I just – I can’t.”

Deni stares at him in disbelief as he walks to the dresser drawer and pulls out running shorts and a shirt; she’s too tipsy to know quite what to think right now, he can tell, and he is a bit glad of that, actually. But he doesn’t miss the suspicion in her eyes, still. He can still see the accusation ready to spill from her lips, and he can’t deal with it right now – he’d almost said another woman’s name while his girlfriend had her mouth around him, and he just can’t begin to process that here.

And if she asks him about it, god knows what he’d end up saying.

“Today was just – a _nightmare_ of a day, okay? I have to – I have to go for a run. I really need to clear my head.” He grabs his keys from the dresser where he set them and shoves them into his pocket as he connects his earbuds to his phone and jams them into his ears, “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?” He says, not waiting for her to answer as he slides on his running shoes.

He opens the door to their bedroom and heads out, not looking back. He steps into the cool Los Angeles night air, inhaling deeply, enjoying the way it feels in his lungs. The pollution might kill him later, but as he passes the twinkling lights of the city as he winds his way along the streets of the Hollywood hills, he can’t much care about that.

As he feels the pavement under his feet, as he feels the bits of rock and gravel under his step, Matt thinks about Alex. The cool wind hits his face and he wonders, not for the first time, whether he would be better off not knowing.

Would he be better off not knowing how her skin feels under his palms, how she sounds when she comes, what she tastes like on his tongue?

There was a time when he didn’t know any of those things – when all he could do was imagine it when he was by himself at night, his hand sliding over himself as he tried to imagine her scent, her touch, her _taste_.

And then he learned what he’d have to spend a lifetime trying to forget: everything he ever imagined paled in comparison to the reality. So, maybe he would have been better off not knowing, but the thing is: _he does know_. And he can’t forget it, god help him.

Right now, though, he wants to run until he doesn’t see her every time he closes his eyes, he wants to run until he can’t hear her laughter in the wind whipping through the mansions he’s running past, he wants to run until she’s not under every bit of his skin, until his blood isn’t carrying her scent and her taste and her smile through his veins like she’s his lifeblood.

But he knows it’s impossible – _he knows_ – because he knows exactly how long it would take, and the thing is - he can’t run forever.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex closes the door to her room softly behind her, leaning against it and trying not to fall apart. She’d been so sure today on set that Matt was trying to tell her something during their scene together, so sure that he’d been on the verge of confessing something important when she caught him by the arm as he walked across the studio.
> 
> She’d spent the rest of the day wondering what she would say to him when she got back to the house, convinced she should say something, that they should talk about what happened on set. She’d talked herself in and out of second chances with Matt, finally landing on a very reluctant no. What she’d done four years ago had been the right thing, and as she’d sat by the fire with Jack and Sabrina early in the evening, she’d decided to tell him that – to ask him if they could just put everything behind them once and for all, if they could move on and just be what they once were to each other: friends.
> 
> Flirty friends, but true friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts out a bit NSFW, so if that isn't your jam, please skip ahead. :)

Alex closes the door to her room softly behind her, leaning against it and trying not to fall apart. She’d been so sure today on set that Matt was trying to tell her something during their scene together, so sure that he’d been on the verge of confessing something important when she caught him by the arm as he walked across the studio.

She’d spent the rest of the day wondering what she would say to him when she got back to the house, convinced she should say _something_ , that they should talk about what happened on set. She’d talked herself in and out of second chances with Matt, finally landing on a very reluctant _no_. What she’d done four years ago had been the right thing, and as she’d sat by the fire with Jack and Sabrina early in the evening, she’d decided to tell him that – to ask him if they could just put everything behind them once and for all, if they could move on and just be what they once were to each other: _friends_.

Flirty friends, but true friends.

But that decision still didn’t make it any easier for Alex to see Matt with Deni – to see his hands splayed out across her lower back, to see his hands creep up under the hem of her shirt, skin on skin.

Since Alex arrived, she hadn’t seen much contact between Matt and Deni, and what little she’d witnessed was initiated by Deni. Matt seemed a passive participant at best, a reluctant one at worst. But what she saw tonight felt like something different, like something else entirely – the little half-smile Alex saw on his lips as he pulled away from Deni felt like a knife in her gut, jagged and sharp, and she really hadn’t expected it to hurt so bloody much.

Alex didn’t expect to feel such a sharp pang of loss when she realized that Matt’s hands had once been on her own body in the exact same place, his eyes dark and stormy as he looked at her with pure desire. There was a time that half-smile was for her, long before she even realized it was, but seeing it directed at someone else now…

That was it, then, the confirmation Alex needed. She’d been telling herself over and over again that Matt is happy now, but there were times she felt herself so reluctant to believe it – times she let herself question the decision she made for them back then, because _what if he wasn’t_?

And the truth is, whatever happened on set today had her thinking that maybe she’d been wrong all along. About a lot of things, but especially about him without her – about his happiness. But sitting by the fire tonight, watching him _touch_ someone else, she knew she wasn’t wrong – Matt Smith _is_ happy, which is the only thing she’s ever really wanted for him, but the realization still leaves her feeling hollow.

Alex pushes herself up from the back of the door and makes her way to the bed, collapsing on it and drawing the pillows up behind her back. The bed is soft, warm, and inviting – it’s become familiar to her since she arrived, comfortable, and she lets herself sink into the bright white duvet now. The scene between she and Jack was intense today. It had been a very long time since a man had touched her like that, and though she knows it was only a scene, that none of it was real, Jack’s rough hands on her body, Jack’s hands cupping her breasts, made her realize _just_ how long it’s been since she’s felt hands that aren’t her own on her body. How long it’s been since someone else touched her, spurred by the flame of desire.

She can’t think about that now, though. Can’t think about the _last time_. She flicks off the bedside lamp and closes her eyes, trying to court sleep, but images flash behind her eyelids instead, and she lets them fly open.

She stares at the ceiling, visible in the moonlight streaming through the vertical blinds in her room, and wills her brain to shut off – to think about _anything_ else. She sighs, burrowing her head into the pillow – _she can’t_.

As intense as the scene between she and Jack was today, the scene between she and Matt, when Daniel allowed Matt to have _his_ take, was even more intense. There had been an undercurrent of electricity between them that pulsated under every word, every action. Matt hadn’t told her a thing, hadn’t told her what he was doing, but the chemistry between them just flowed and sparked until it felt like they were the only two people in the room. It felt like old times, but even more charged than all of that. His voice was rough when he spoke to her on-set today, gravelly and low and it reminded her of the way he whispered into her ear when she –

_Stop, Alex_ , she chastises herself. _The man is happy, he is with someone else_ , _you can’t just fantasize about him now. So what if no one has ever touched you quite like he did? So what if his tongue felt like a specific type of black magic between your thighs?_

She hates the voice in her head, really properly hates it because she can’t stop thinking about Matt Smith between her thighs now, the way his dark eyes had looked up at her as his tongue worked her over, the way he moaned so dirtily when she came in his mouth.

_One more time_ , she tells herself, and she allows her hands to slip under the thin cotton of her t-shirt. Allows her fingers to twist her nipples until they are hard peaks under the soft material. _One more time, and she will let Matt go._

Alex wonders if it’s a lie as her right hand slips over her stomach, under the waistband of her yoga pants. She realizes she doesn’t care if it is as her fingers glide against herself, as she pretends that it is his fingers working themselves inside of her, as she pretends it is his thumb circling her clit. She works herself up slowly, sliding her fingers in and out of herself, her back arching off the bed as her other hand plays with her breasts, pretending it’s not her hand at all.

She feels herself climbing higher and higher, her fingers working faster and faster, until she’s just on the edge. When she feels herself falling over it, she turns her head and presses her face into the pillow as the pleasure courses through her, the faux down of the pillow muffling her ragged cries. She tucks her mouth directly into the fabric and she cries out his name once, twice, and the third time she feels her tears come fast and hard because she knows - _she is letting him go_.

When she floats down from her high, she looks up at the ceiling again, swiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. She feels ridiculous, and her only saving grace is that she is the only one who will ever know what happened here tonight.

She’s just closing her eyes to chase sleep again when she hears it: the shutting of a door, the murmuring of voices coming from next door – from Matt’s room.

Alex freezes, straining to hear, though she knows she should shove the pillow up around her ears so that she doesn’t hear, but she can’t help it. She can only hear faint voices, though, can’t discern words, but when she hears Matt groan and a quiet thud that sounds suspiciously like a head falling back in pleasure, she feels the tears burning behind her eyes again. She hates herself for them, but they come nonetheless, trickling down her face in a neat little line until they’re coming faster than she can manage to swipe them away.

She _does_ pull her pillow up around her ears then, pressing it firmly against her head with her palms. It works for a few blessed moments, when she can hear nothing but the wild beating of her own heart and the heaving of her breaths as the tears come, still sliding down her cheeks with abandon. But then it stops working, and she hears Deni, her cries of pleasure escalating until it feels as though there’s not a pillow around Alex’s ears at all.

Alex had always thought she’d been rather loud herself in ecstasy, but she’s never heard the sounds coming from next door outside of a porno before. Alex is just about to switch on some music, sure that she can’t take another _second_ of the sounds floating through the walls, when Deni’s voice cuts through the down alternative pillow one last time, Matt’s name a _scream_ from her lips.

It’s finally quiet then, and Alex cautiously drops the pillow from around her ears, stilling her body to try to hear anything else, but she hears only sweet silence, finally. She turns on her side, doing her best to ignore the stinging behind her eyes as she closes them, her lashes still wet with tears until she finally falls asleep.

She wakes up with the sun, her eyes heavy and tired, tinged with red from the tears that followed her into sleep. She gets out of bed, opens her blinds so she can see out of the picturesque window as the sun crawls up over the city in greeting. She does a few sun salutations in front of the window, trying her best to be grateful for even this day. When she’s done, and the sun has fully risen in the sky, she dresses and creeps out of the quiet house, taking a little stroll through the neighborhood, remembering a time when she used to walk these very streets.

The morning air is chilly, and she wraps her arms around herself to guard against the quiet wind. When she gets to an empty corner that looks out over the city, she sits down and thinks.

She thinks about letting go – about how she really hadn’t, how she’d clung to the idea of Matt for four years, never letting another man get close enough to her to make her forget. She thinks about how she didn’t want to forget, not really, but after what she heard last night, after the way Deni’s moans and cries at Matt Smith’s hands and god knows what else had shattered Alex’s own heart into pieces all over again, she wishes she could.

She wishes she never knew what Matt’s hands on her body felt like – because all of this would be easier if she didn’t know what he tastes like, if she didn’t know the way he looked at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted when his head was between her legs. She shakes her head – none of this would be _easy_ no matter what, and if wishing could make it so – maybe she’d wish for something else, instead. Courage, maybe. A thicker skin. A past that didn’t haunt her so much, didn’t _hurt_ her so much, that didn’t claw at the back of her mind even on days when she thought she’d found peace, even on days when she thought she’d relegated it to painful memories. Less damage, more hope.

She wishes _a lot of things_ as she looks out over the city, the smog rolling in like clouds on a bay.

“It’s time, Alex,” She whispers to herself as she closes her eyes and feels the wind on her face as she tries to imagine the broken pieces of her heart mending, one by one.

By the time she makes it to set using Uber for the very first time, she’s ready to go home. Not where she lives now, not her home in England, but her old home in Los Angeles, the one with strangers currently living in it. For the first time in a long time she misses it, misses her pool, her open layout, her fire pit overlooking the canyons – the place she could always get her head on straight, the place her thoughts would always clear.

Alex sits in hair and makeup while the girls work on covering the redness of her eyes – they care too much about her to bring it up. Maggie speaks in soft, hushed tones, joking with Alex and making her laugh – going on a five minute tirade about that ‘snitch Millie in Wardrobe,’ and Alex can’t help but think how lovely it is to have _friends_ on this set.

She can’t tell them everything – or anything, really – but she can let them take care of her in their own special ways. Kristin wings eyeliner over Alex’s lids as Maggie’s fingers massage Alex’s scalp, and Victoria showers her with compliments as she dabs Alex’s lips with a mauve lipstick that ‘only, like, three people could ever pull off.’

Before Alex leaves for wardrobe, Maggie pulls her aside.

“I just want to let you know, hon, _no one else_ except Jack has a call until mid-afternoon.” Maggie taps her nose conspiratorially, “You’ve got some time.”

Alex smiles at her gratefully, reaching down and grasping her hand, “Thanks, Mags.” She says, before heading to wardrobe.

When she finally emerges from wardrobe, Alex feels better – there’s something about dressing up that always puts her in a better mood, had done since she was little. Today, wardrobe has her in a corseted dress, the waist cinched tight, her cleavage pushed up, and the material at the bottom fluttering out from her hips. She is filming a scene at a masquerade with Jack, and she is completely dressed the part.

As she walks on set, ready to film, she smiles softly to herself – _never underestimate the power of a pretty dress_.

Her scene with Jack goes smoothly, they work well together, playing off of one another’s energy as the quickly paced scene passes by. Daniel is impressed, and he tells them so –

“Your chemistry is magnificent.” He says, right before calling for a reset.

Jack grins, “That’s all Alex, honestly.”

Alex rolls her eyes and slaps him playfully on the shoulder. She’s never minded flattery, honestly, especially from a good-looking man. And Jack surprises her – his candor is refreshing, and when they reset for another take and he breaks character to make her laugh for the first time today, she finds herself feeling remarkably lighter.

When Daniel calls cut on their scene and announces they’d be moving on to some establishing shots before Jack’s next solo scene, Jack follows Alex to craft services, chatting aimlessly with her as she pours herself a cup of coffee. She drops a little milk in it and a packet of sugar, stirring as she stops and looks at him. He’s stopped talking now and is watching her curiously.

“So…” He says, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth, “Up for a little bonding today, Ms. Kingston?”

She quirks her eyebrow at him in silent question.

He grins, “Director mandated bonding, remember? Lunch with each cast member by edict of Daniel DeLuca, yeah?” He picks up another grape, poising it at his mouth, “You and I’ve not done ours yet.”

Alex smiles, watching as Jack pops the grape in his mouth, chewing quietly. She’s got one solo scene to film a bit later, and all she really wants is to go _home_ – but she can’t, because she doesn’t have a home here in Los Angeles anymore.

Watching the indecision flicker across her face, Jack smiles, “Come on, Alex,” He smiles, “Lunch is on me.”

Alex laughs at that, “Oh? Lunch that is provided to us _gratis_ by craft services is on you?” She eyes him, “Don’t _you_ know how to make a girl feel special?”

Jack laughs, his head tipping back, and Alex notices again how very _attractive_ he actually is. He looks at her then and smirks, “You know, I _really_ do.”

At her stunned expression, he winks – _attractive_ and _a flirt. Alright, then_.

Alex smirks back, “I’d quite like to see your technique, I think.” At his look, she laughs, “Fine. Lunch – _mandated_ lunch,” She clarifies, pointing her index finger at him.

He grins, raising his hands in front of him, “One work? Picnic tables?”

Alex glances at her watch, “Okay.” She nods, “I’ll be in my trailer until then,” She spins on her heel, heading toward her trailer.

When she arrives at her trailer, she locks the door and lies down. She calls her daughter and leaves a voicemail, sends a text to a friend, and finally decides on trying to catch a little nap. Sleep, she is surprised to find, comes easily to her.

When she wakes by chance, it is one fifteen. As the cobwebs of sleep shake themselves off, she sits up with a panic. Throwing her shoes on, she throws the lock on her trailer and barrels down the stairs, heading straight towards the picnic tables.

When she is nearly there, she collides with something hard and solid. The impact momentarily stuns her, and she smells his scent before she registers his large hands on her biceps. _Matt_.

“Oh,” She bites her lip as she looks up at him, “Sorry – I wasn’t looking, and I was running late, and – sorry.” She finishes, still looking up at him. She is utterly horrified to find that her eyes feel wet as she stares at him. From mortification, probably, from the residual feelings of what she heard last night – _yes_.

“It’s okay, Alex,” His voice is gentle, his eyes are dark, “It wasn’t that hard.” He finishes and Alex watches him war with himself – finally, he lets his eyes drop to take in her costume, the pushed up line of her cleavage and he smirks, “ _Now_ it is, though.”

_Oh_. She can’t do this with him right now – she wants to; oh, how she wants to just pretend that everything is fine between them, that she didn’t hear what she heard, that it didn’t hurt her like it did, but she just can’t. She can’t _flirt_ with him right now, her heart can’t take it.

She offers him a weak smile, pretends not to notice as his face falls as she steps away from him, his hands falling from her biceps. She hates that she can’t feel his hands on her skin anymore, “Sorry, Matt,” She says again, her voice quiet, “I have to – I have to go.”

Alex walks away from him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other even as she feels his eyes on her back. When she arrives at the picnic table, Jack is waiting for her.

“I thought I’d been stood up,” He says, shading his eyes with his hand as he watches her approach, “Thought I’d have to get my money back,” He indicates her sandwich and soda, sitting across from his.

She slides in across from him, laughing lightly, “Sorry – I fell asleep.” She shakes her head, willing herself to focus on the man sitting in front of her.

“Prospect of lunch with me just that enthralling, hey?” He grins, popping the top on his soda can and bringing it to his lips, “You sure do know how to make a guy feel special.”

Alex laughs, tipping her head back as she opens her can as well, “Oh, you’ve _no_ idea.” She injects as much flirtation in her voice as she can muster, but it must work because Jack is momentarily speechless, just staring at her, “I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, picking up his sandwich, “Don’t be. I’d heard tell of your flirting, Ms. Kingston, I’m quite glad to experience it firsthand.” He takes a bite of his sandwich before placing it back down on his plate.

She reaches out and traces her finger along the crust of her sandwich, what bit of her appetite that was present gone the moment she ran into Matt, quite literally, “Ah,” She says, smiling, “I’m afraid I’m a bit off my game, actually.”

Jack stares at her, “This is you _off your game_?” He eyes her incredulously, “Then it’s a bloody good job you’re not on your game, isn’t it?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I’d not survive it, I think.”

Alex chuckles, taking a sip of her soda, “Then once I’m up to par, I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Ah,” Jack smiles, “Death at your hands might be worth it, though.” He winks, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Alex picks at a piece of turkey at the edge of her sandwich, bringing it up to her mouth to nibble on it. Mandated lunch with Jack isn’t so bad, after all. This is her fourth lunch – she’d had lunch with Sabrina the very first week, and she’d had a quiet but nice lunch with Doug and a similar one with Andres late in the second week of filming. And now Jack. She wasn’t sure which lunch she was looking least forward to, though: lunch with Matt, or lunch with Deni.

Oh, that was ridiculous, of course she knew – she wasn’t looking forward to lunch with Matt precisely _because_ she was looking forward to it. Lunch with Deni was another beast altogether.

Alex looks at him, “So, married?”

Jack scoffs, looking at her a bit incredulously as he swallows a bite of his sandwich, “I _asked you out_.”

Alex simply stares at him as she wings an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest, unimpressed. As though _being married_ is a preclusion for asking women out. Lord knows she’d learned that lesson the hard way more than once.

Jack raises his hands in supplication, “Divorced.” He admits, smiling a little and shaking his head. “You?”

Alex smiles a bit, “Divorced. Twice.”

Jack picks up his soda and takes a sip, setting it down and placing his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers as he considers her, “Sorry.”

“I’m not.” At his expression, she laughs, “Used to be. But, whatever road I went on led me to a life I’m pretty happy with, so I stopped.”

Jack watches her quietly, his eyes scanning her face as though he’s trying to discern what she’s thinking, “Dinner?”

Alex sighs, watching him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “I do eat it from time to time.”

Jack laughs, “Dinner with me?” He clarifies, his finger moving to circle around the top of the aluminum can just to his right.

Alex considers him for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip as she thinks. Jack asked her out the second day she’d met him, but he hadn’t really pushed her. He hadn’t even asked her again or brought it up, clearly recognizing her apprehension, clearly knowing that she needed time to decide. He is patient with her, everything about his body language even now screams it. Alex sighs, tapping her fingers absentmindedly against the picnic table, her mind turning over on itself.

She thinks about last night – what happened before she got to her room, and what happened after. She’d been waiting, and for what? She heard all the confirmation she needed to hear last night that Matt had moved on – he wasn’t lying awake at night thinking of her anymore, perhaps he never had been. He was with someone now, and if the sounds Alex heard Deni make last night were any indication, he was quite happy with his chosen companion. Matt’s hands weren’t hers anymore; _Matt_ wasn’t hers anymore, and he never really was, not truly.

She looks at Jack, at his kind eyes, so blue in the sunlight; he’s a nice man, kind to her, and quite easy on the eyes if she’s honest. He’s a _good egg_ , as far as Maggie is concerned, and Alex hasn’t given a man a second thought in a very long time – perhaps it is time she started. Perhaps she should start with Jack.

She stops drumming her fingers on the table, her mind finally made up, “Fine. Dinner. Tonight,” She agrees, picking up her coke and taking a sip, “Before I come to my bloody senses.” She picks her turkey sandwich up, her absent appetite suddenly replaced with a bundle of unexpected nerves. She swings her leg over the picnic table and smiles at Jack, enjoying the way the smile he’s sporting breaks across his face.

“Momentary leave of your senses not withstanding, you’ll not regret it,” Jack says, grinning up at her from his seat.

She smirks at him, “We’ll see.” She starts to walk away, tossing her sandwich in a nearby bin.

“Dinner!” Jack calls, when she’s gone just a bit further, “7pm, tonight!” He calls, and Alex can’t help the little smile that crosses her face at the excitement evident in his voice.

When she passes a second picnic bench a little farther down, she sees Matt, sitting by himself, his face dark and unreadable as he looks back at Jack, clearly having heard their plans. She catches his eye as she passes, but neither of them says anything—what is there left to say, really? But the look in his eye still confuses her, still sets her on edge, still makes her wish that – well, just wish.

Shaking her head, trying to clear every memory, wish, dream of Matt away, Alex makes her way to her trailer and hides there for the rest of the day, only emerging to film her solo scene and a small added scene with Sabrina before she heads back to the shared house for the night.

When she gets back, it’s 5:30, and Alex very seriously considers canceling her date with Jack – he’d understand, she’s sure of it. She has her phone in her hand and is just about ready to dial him when she thinks about last night again.

She thinks about how she laid in bed, touching herself, thinking of Matt – and how she heard Matt and Deni, shortly thereafter, in the throes of passion. She thinks of her heart, and the pieces it’s been in for four years – and how many more it was broken into hearing Deni call out Matt’s name like _that_. Alex never had a claim on Matt, she knows, she never staked one, and maybe he would have let her – but, and this was the thing: as it turns out, Matt _had_ staked one on her heart, and she hadn’t even really realized it until he waltzed back into her life, every bit the Matt she once knew.

God, she wanted her heart back – she wanted to belong to herself again.

_It’s time, Alex_ , she thinks, echoing the words she spoke out loud to herself this morning as she looks in her closet for something appropriate to wear. She pulls out an olive green wrap dress and holds it up to herself in the floor length mirror. She whips off her clothes, throws the dress on, and tilts her head to the side, considering. She pulls the dress off again, standing in her bra and knickers and surveying her closet.

Unlocking her phone, Alex calls her friend from her RADA days, tapping her foot impatiently as she stares into the abyss that is her closet. When the call connects, Alex sighs into the phone exasperatedly.

“I have no clothes, Mindy. Not a single presentable thing to wear.”

Mindy laughs, and Alex can practically hear her rolling her eyes, “Alex, I’ve been telling you that for literally years.” She hears Mindy yawn, “It’s 1:30 in the morning for me, by the way, thanks ever so much.”

Alex scoffs, putting the phone on speaker so she can sort through her closet a bit more, “Please. You call me every single time you’re drunk and wake me up in the middle of the bloody night. Anyway, I’ve got a date, and I’ve got nothing to wear.”

Mindy gasps dramatically, and Alex rolls her eyes, “Wait – you’ve a date, and you actually _care_ what you look like for it?” She chuckles, “Where is _my_ Alex and what have you done with her?”

Alex huffs into the phone, reaching in her closet and pushing hangers apart, trying to see something she might have missed. “I’ve replaced her with someone who will not hesitate to end this friendship immediately if you do not help me from thousands of miles away figure out what the hell a double divorcee halfway through her fifties is supposed to wear on a _bloody fucking shitting date_ ,” She grits her teeth into the phone, not at all amused by how amusing Mindy apparently finds this entire situation.

“Alex!” Mindy sounds more awake now than she had only moments before, but she still ignores Alex’s mini-tirade, “Spill. Who _is_ this guy?”

“You don’t know him,” Alex replies airily into the phone.

Mindy tuts into the phone, and Alex can practically hear her scowl, “Details. Or I’m not going to give you my very, very sage advice.”

Alex sighs heavily, “Fine. He’s an actor on this show I’m in – a few years younger than me – his name is Jack, and he’s –” Alex grins, “Well, he’s quite sweet actually.”

“Sweet is good, I like sweet for you,” Mindy makes a sound of approval, “And is he fit?”

Alex rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, “ _Yes_ , Mindy, he’s very fit.” Alex thinks of Jack’s broad chest and handsome face, “Advice _now_ , or I’ll be sure to call you repeatedly when we get back from our date, too.”

Mindy laughs, “Okay, okay – fine – here it is – it’s why they pay me the mediocre bucks: wear something that makes you comfortable.”

Alex snorts, “So my yoga pants and t-shirt?”

“No, not _that_ comfortable, though I wouldn’t put it past you, honestly. Look, wear something you’re not self-conscious in. You know those dresses you have to wear to those bloody award shows – they don’t suit you.” Mindy chuckles, “Well, no, they suit you quite well. But it always feels a bit like you’re putting on someone else’s skin for a night, doesn’t it?” Alex murmurs her agreement – she had always rather felt like that when she’d had to dress up using a bloody stylist for one event or another. “Honestly, if you can’t find something, even one of your hippie dippie outfits could work,” Alex is about to protest that particular characterization, but Mindy keeps talking, “Because if you feel comfortable instead of self-conscious, you won’t spend half of dinner second guessing your outfit choice. You can focus on other things, like perhaps how good this _Jack_ might be with his tongue.”

Alex is silent, despite Mindy’s joke, as she looks at the green wrap dress she’d thrown on her bed in a huff.

Mindy laughs again, “You already know what to wear, don’t you?”

Alex sighs, loath to admit that Mindy knows what the hell she’s talking about, “Yes.”

Mindy makes a small noise of triumph, “Great – as thanks for my services, I accept flowers, candy, cash, credit – the usual. One of those edible arrangement deals – those are very lovely, actually.”

Alex smirks, straightening the olive green wrap dress out on the bed so as not to introduce wrinkles into the soft fabric, “Oh, shut up.”

Mindy sighs, “Fine, but they really _should_ be paying you more for the work you do, my rates will go up exponentially for second date advice. And don’t even get me started on the third date. This round, I’ll settle for juicy details _tomorrow_.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Alex rolls her eyes even though she knows Mindy can’t see her, “And I already know how good Jack is with his tongue, by the way.”

Mindy nearly shrieks into the phone, “Alex Kingston!”

“It was for a _scene._ ” At Mindy’s sound of disbelief, Alex chuckles, shaking her head. Finally, she speaks directly into the phone, her voice sweet and innocent, “Thanks, honey. Give Eric a kiss for me.”

Mindy gasps, “I will _not,_ Alex, I don’t need to plant the idea of kissing _you_ in my husband’s head, thank you very much. I mean, _Jesus_.”

“Good _bye_ , Mindy.” Alex ends the call with another roll of her eyes, then tosses her phone on the bed.

She eyes the green wrap dress one more time – it’s one of her favorites, soft and well worn, and she typically likes the way she looks in it. She’d tossed it aside because she wasn’t sure it was datey enough, but annoying as she is—and _oh_ , she’s one of her best friends, but she is bloody annoying—Mindy is right. If Alex is comfortable on the date, it sets a good tone. She’d never been one for spike heels, bodycon dresses, and layers of makeup, anyway. What you see is typically what you get with Alex, and there’s no sense in trying to circumvent that logic. It’s worked well enough for her in the past.

Well. With two divorces under her proverbial belt, she guesses that part is up for debate.

Alex heads into her bathroom and washes her face, still clad in her bra and knickers. She puts minimal makeup on, taking care with her thin eyeliner and mascara – top lashes only – and then fluffs her hair in the mirror. Her curls look a bit wild, but she’s always kind of liked them like that.

She pads into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed, looking out over the canyon below. It really is a beautiful view, so similar to the one Alex enjoyed when she once called this city home. She feels the nerves settle in her stomach, and she’s honestly getting a bit tired of feeling nervous, but she can’t help it. For all her joking, Mindy was actually right – it had been a long time since Alex had been on a proper date, let alone a date she actually found herself caring about. And she very surprisingly found herself caring about this one. The more she gets to know of Jack, the more she thinks that Maggie was right, that he _is_ a good egg.

This date could be good for her – and, if she’s honest, that’s precisely what she’s scared of. As much as she wants to let go of Matt, and after last night, she does – she well and truly does – she’s not entirely sure she even remembers who she is when she’s not holding on to him. Who was Alex before Matt? Or, more importantly, who is she now, after him?

With a sigh, Alex stands, smoothing her hand over the green material still spread out on the bed. She lifts it up and pulls the green wrap dress over her body, cinching it at the waist. She moves to the full-length mirror, turning this way and that, appraising herself. She smiles, pleased by what she sees. The dress shows off a good bit of her cleavage, accentuated by the lace bra she’s wearing – and a hint of that is visible, too. It feels just daring enough, and she feels her adrenaline kick up a little. It wasn’t every day she went around with her lace bra showing, after all. At least, not anymore. Back in the day, there were times when she didn’t even _wear_ a bra – a little flash of the camera baring all to the world.

Smiling, she goes to her travel jewelry case sitting on the dresser and pulls out a rather large necklace, holding it up to herself in the mirror. She _loves_ large jewelry, but for some reason, holding it up to her neck now, she decides to forego it for the evening. It doesn’t seem to fit with whatever vibe she’s going for, and she thinks about how proud Mindy would be of Alex’s refusal of chunky jewelry.

Alex considers herself in the mirror, turning from side to side, checking her reflection. _Not bad_ , she thinks, her hands skating over the fabric of her dress one more time. It’s silky and smooth, and she thanks Mindy, annoying as she is, for the foresight to recommend comfort. The nerves are still fluttering around in Alex’s stomach, of course, but they at least don’t have to contend with tight, constricting, uncomfortable clothing.

Sliding a pair of strappy sandals on her feet – her Birkenstocks were probably a _bit_ too casual – she checks her watch, finding it closer to seven than she imagined it would be. The nerves still roiling in her stomach, she makes her way to the living room of the shared house, unsure of where Jack will meet her, and vaguely wondering if it’s too late to cancel. Deciding that it is, she sits down on the couch and begins scrolling absentmindedly through her phone. She’s halfway through a text to Mindy when she hears a gaggle of people coming up the stairs from the bottom level of the house. Alex turns to see nearly the entire cast, save Jack, walking up the stairs – everyone is dressed up—Doug, Andres, and Sabrina all wearing tight trousers and button-down shirts.

Alex smiles when she sees them, “Well,” She greets, as they walk into the living room, “Don’t you all look dapper?”

Doug and Andres both give her a thumbs up before heading into the kitchen to mix up some drinks. Sabrina does a little twirl, then winks at Alex. Alex rolls her eyes, and catches Matt and Deni coming slowly up the stairs behind Sabrina. Deni’s wearing a tight red bodycon dress and her blonde hair is falling in loose curls down her back. Matt is wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a faded black leather jacket. Alex bites her lip and glances down, because _damn_ he looks good.

Deni steps in front of a mirror hanging on the wall and fluffs her hair, pulling a tube of lipstick out of her purse and applying another coat of red in the mirror.

“We’re going to a club,” Deni says, smiling at herself in the mirror before walking back over to Matt and sliding her hand around his waist. She kisses him on the cheek, very near to his mouth, and leaves a lipstick print. Alex watches as he turns red, self-consciously wiping at his cheek, only succeeding in smearing the lipstick a bit.

Alex clears her throat, “Really?” She quirks her eyebrow, “At seven?”

Deni narrows her eyes, but Sabrina laughs, “Some of us aren’t as young as we used to be,” She winks at Alex again, “Not you, though. You look younger every damn time I see you. What’s your secret?” Sabrina sits down on the couch next to Alex.

“Do you really want to know?” She asks Sabrina, conspiratorially. At Sabrina’s nod, Alex leans in a bit closer, “Water. And orgasms.” She whispers, “Lots and lots of orgasms.”

Sabrina’s eyes widen and then a wide grin breaks across her face. Alex doesn’t have to wonder if Deni and Matt heard her, because she glances at them to find Matt looking vaguely uncomfortable, and Deni fuming. The girl looks like she’s positively fit to be tied, and Alex can see the snipe forming in Deni’s head, but before she gets a chance to deliver it, Jack walks through the front door of the house.

He’s dressed in a pair of dark washed jeans with a thick white button down, his salt and pepper hair free from product. He smiles as he sees Alex, and she’s oddly touched by the fact that his eyes don’t stray – not for a second – to the twenty-something girl in one of the tightest dresses Alex has ever seen on a human standing in the middle of the room.

Sabrina lets out a low whistle when she sees Jack, “Lookin’ good, J.” Sabrina looks between he and Alex, “Wait, are y’all coming to the club with us? Alex – I have some _moves_ I want to show you,” She leans in and waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Alex laughs, “Thank you, love, but I’m afraid I’ve got other plans this evening. You’ll have to save those moves for another time.”

Jack winks at Alex, “Let me just grab my keys,” He sidesteps the couch and heads toward his bedroom, still not glancing at Deni even once.

“Are y’all – _going on a date_?” Sabrina queries, looking at Alex. When Alex doesn’t respond, Sabrina laughs, “Well, _damn_. That is one good looking couple y’all make,” She claps her hands together, “Alright, I know one thing I’m not too old for – and that’s pre-gaming. Christmas!” Sabrina stands up, “To the kitchen. To tequila.”

Deni steps forward, tugging on Matt’s arm, but he doesn’t move, staring at some fixed point on the floor.

“I’ll be right there,” He nods, and she rolls her eyes, but drops his arm, pointedly ignoring Alex as she walks by the couch, her gold stilettos clacking noisily against the tile.

Alex winces, and Matt looks at her curiously, “What?”

“No, just – ” Alex waves her hand, “Ankles weren’t meant to bend like that.”

Matt grins, “I seem to remember your ankles bending quite nicely in a pair of designer heels many moons ago.”

Alex laughs, “Yes, and I relished every moment spent in my Uggs instead of those heels, pretty though they were.” She wonders briefly what he did with them, but thinks it’s perhaps a bit too maudlin to ask. No answer he could give would comfort her, anyway.

Matt shakes his head, “I quite liked you in both, actually,” He takes a step towards the couch, and Alex feels her heart start hammering in her chest. He looks at her, _really_ looks at her, his eyes skating over her body, and Alex feels herself start to flush – she always did when Matt looked at her like that. Even now, she can see something flicker in his eyes, and it makes her stomach tighten, “You look _beautiful_ , Alex.” Matt whispers, quietly.

She glances up at him, and his eyes are alight with something – and she feels hers start to water, and she knows she can’t speak or she will cry. Thankfully, Jack comes up waving his keys, and Alex finds herself wordlessly standing from the couch. Jack looks at Matt for a brief moment, and then smiles at Alex as she walks past him, his hand guiding her through the open front door.

“Have a good night, Matt,” Jack calls over his shoulder.

Just as the door closes behind them, Alex hears Matt’s reply: “Yeah, you too, mate.” And he sounds so _sad_ that Alex’s heart cracks in her chest to hear it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, for god’s sake, just ask me.” Alex looks at him pointedly over her water glass.
> 
> Jack looks at her, amused, “What?”
> 
> Alex rolls her eyes, but a small smile plays at the corner of her lips, “Whatever you’re going to ask me – just ask.”
> 
> Alex prepares herself to be questioned about her divorce, either one – her ex-husband, either one. People – even nice, sweet people like Jack – are always curious. They always want to know – usually about the first one, about what went wrong, sometimes even about what he’s like, though Alex always refuses to talk about it.
> 
> A little wave of disappointment washes over her, and she realizes she’d been hoping Jack was different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a couple of months back with *one* song playing on repeat over and over again. Oops.

Jack leads Alex to his car, opening the door for her as she slides in – it’s a gentlemanly gesture, and something she’s always found rather sweet, if completely unnecessary. They drive down the winding Hollywood hills, and Alex watches the scenery pass by as they chat about filming, past and future projects, their daughters.

The conversation flows easily between them, a bit like they’re old friends, and Alex finds herself laughing, much like she seems to always find herself when she’s with Jack. It feels good – like something that had been missing from her life for years and she hadn’t even realized it. The realization is tinged with sadness, but she resolutely ignores it – unable but mostly just unwilling to decipher quite _why_ the fact that another man makes her laugh so much and so hard makes her a bit _sad_.

Jack drives her to Venice Beach, and she smiles at the sight of it. She’d always quite loved this place – her hippie soul feeling a bit at home amongst all the vendors peddling their wares, the scent of ocean, patchouli, and sometimes the occasional whiff of marijuana wafting through the air. There’d been days where she’d stopped and stared at the men on Muscle Beach, their muscles glistening in the sun as a few of them recognized her and tried to catch her eye.

She’d been married back then, but never found anything too terribly wrong with enjoying a view, honestly.

When Alex and Jack exit the car – she doesn’t wait for him to open the door for her this time – the smell of Venice Beach hits her full-force, and she’s reminded that scent is so very inextricably tied to memory. She’s always known that, of course, but there have been a few times in her life where it just _hits her_ and she’s positively back in time. This moment, for her, is one of them.

Because as she inhales, she can’t help but think of a time when she was still finding herself, clawing her way to a future out of a bad marriage with a man who was never what she needed but for a while was all she thought she deserved.

Her eyes survey the landscape now, and it’s so familiar to her but so glaringly different – so much is the same, and yet it feels like so much has changed since the last time she was here. _Like her_. She’s miles away from the person she was the last time she set foot on this beach – by herself, to watch the sunset in its brilliance, to say goodbye to a city that taught her so many things about herself. And yet she still carries with her pieces of who she was before she left – some burnt, some whole – and this beach has a way of making her wonder who she will become. She looks at Jack as he leads her down a small alleyway towards the boardwalk, and she wonders – just _wonders_.

Jack must feel her looking at him, because he grins at her, then inclines his head at a restaurant they’ve arrived in front of just beyond the boardwalk in Venice – it’s a little hole in the wall, with chips in the paint on the outside and a well-worn sign above the door. It’s the definition of _mom and pop_ , and it feels so much more her style than any fancy bistro or Michelin star restaurant ever could. She feels a tugging in her heart because _clearly_ Jack had thought of her when he planned this date, and she hadn’t had someone do that in the longest time.

Inside the restaurant, beautiful handmade paintings hang on the wall – it’s like a gallery _and_ restaurant all rolled into one. It’s the type of place Alex _loves_ , and when they’re seated, she finds herself studying the art on the walls intently, taking in each piece, wondering about the artist that painted it, each name in tiny scrawl on little cards underneath each work. She smiles as she stares at the pictures, some good, some not, but all clearly painted with intent and heart. She feels Jack’s gaze on her, and she turns to look at him, finding him watching _her_ intently.

“What?” She asks, picking up her water and taking a drink.

Jack shakes his head, “Nothing – just – ” He smiles, and his blue eyes crinkle at the sides, “You look _lovely_ , Alex.”

Alex feels a blush crawl up her neck and she is thankful the lighting in the tiny restaurant is dim, “Thank you,” She looks at him, at the way his white shirt stretches over his broad chest, “You look quite lovely yourself.”

Jack laughs, his eyes sparkling, “Well, thank you.”

The waiter comes to their table bearing a wine list, and Jack looks at Alex. She feels the nerves in her stomach, spurred on by the way Jack has been looking at her all night, and she’d quite like to down a giant glass or two of pinot – noir or grigio, hell, even a gris, she’s not picky – but she has to keep her wits about her. This is the first date she’s had in ages that doesn’t fill her with an overwhelming sense of dread – the first date in ages on which she’s not planning an elaborate ruse to escape within the first ten minutes.

She needs to keep her head on straight, and wine _isn’t_ the way to do that, no matter how quickly the nerves in her stomach would shut the hell up after a glass or two. She politely declines, though it pains her a bit to do so, since she’d quite like to take the edge off a bit.

Jack declines as well, and Alex finds the gesture of solidarity oddly sweet.

When the waiter has taken their order, Jack folds his hands neatly on the table and looks at Alex, turning his head curiously. She stares at him, wondering what he’s going to ask her, certain that there’s something. He reaches out and draws a line in the condensation on his glass, and for the first time this evening a bit of an awkward silence hangs over the table.

“Oh, for god’s sake, just ask me.” Alex looks at him pointedly over her water glass.

Jack looks at her, amused, “What?”

Alex rolls her eyes, but a small smile plays at the corner of her lips, “Whatever you’re going to ask me – just ask.”

Alex prepares herself to be questioned about her divorce, either one – her ex-husband, either one. People – even nice, sweet people like Jack – are always curious. They always want to know – usually about the first one, about what went wrong, sometimes even about what he’s like, though Alex always refuses to talk about it.

A little wave of disappointment washes over her, and she realizes she’d been hoping Jack was different.

Jack chuckles, shaking his head a bit as he runs his fingers along his chin, thinking. Finally, he looks at her, his eyes soft and gentle, “So… truth or dare aside… want to tell me what went on between you and Matt?”

Alex opens her mouth and closes it again, a bit stunned. The disappointment she’d been feeling suddenly gone as quickly as it came and replaced with shock, instead.

She hadn’t expected _that_. She doesn’t know quite what to say, actually, so she takes a moment and says nothing.

Jack watches her carefully, “It seems like he’s still carrying a torch.” When Alex doesn’t respond, when she looks at the breadstick on her plate instead of at him, Jack dips his head, trying to catch her gaze. When she finally looks at him, he smiles gently, “And like maybe you are a bit.”

Alex sighs, glancing down at her plate. She begins pulling apart her breadstick, but not eating it, “Jack…” She shrugs, plucking her breadstick into a few more pieces. Finally, she looks at him, “Look, Matt… he’s young enough to be my… well.” She can tell he’s not buying it – and Alex doesn’t want to lie. She doesn’t know what will happen between she and Jack, if anything will, but she’s grown quite tired of lying, anyway. Still, she doesn’t want to give details – what happened between she and Matt, even though it didn’t work out, couldn’t have worked out, feels sacred somehow. Like something for just the two of them. She sighs again, “Look. Whatever may or may not have happened between us, it could never have _been_ anything.”

Jack leans back in his seat, considering her, “Not because he didn’t want it to be.”

Alex drops the bits of breadstick back on her plate, “Jack…” She warns, her voice serious.

Jack holds his hands out in surrender, shaking his head, “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

 _Matt_. She doesn’t want to think about him on a date – doesn’t want to think about him at whatever club he’s at now rubbing up on his young girlfriend, her lipstick marking his sweet skin. Alex forces a smile as she looks at Jack, forcing all thoughts of Matt out of her mind – if a few happen to linger, well, she’s used to it.

“Thank you,” Alex whispers, clearing her throat. She picks up a piece of her breadstick and pops it into her mouth, the garlic flavor bursting on her tongue before she swallows. Her eyes flit around the restaurant, “This is a lovely space,” She smiles, “It has a good energy.”

Jack laughs, running a hand through his hair as his eyes glance around the restaurant, following the same path that hers took, “It really does.” The waiter arrives at the table and sets their food in front of them, they both thank him and he scurries away, “Millie told me about it, actually.”

Alex laughs, “That heathen in wardrobe?”

Jack grins, picking up his fork and twirling it into his spaghetti, “The very same.”

Alex shakes her head fondly, “Those two are quite the characters.” Jack nods his head in agreement, and Alex considers him, “Maggie has a soft spot for you,” Alex grins, spearing a mini-ravioli with her fork.

Jack raises his eyebrows, “Does she?”

Alex nods, swallowing the ravioli, “She said you’re a good egg.”

“Putting a good word in for me, was she?” He grins at her, picking up his glass of water, “I’ll have to thank her, then.” He takes a swallow and sets his glass down, “Though I was quite under the impression I’d charmed you all on my own.”

Alex laughs, tipping her head back, smiling fondly at Jack when she’s done, “Who said I’m charmed?” She arches a brow.

He eyes her, a smile threatening to break across his face, “Aren’t you?”

Alex brings her water glass to her lips, suppressing a smile, “We’ll see.”

Jack grins, twirling more of his spaghetti around his fork, and Alex shakes her head.

Watching him, Alex feels herself smile – a wide, true grin that she hasn’t felt in what feels like much too long. Maybe she _is_ a bit charmed.

The dinner passes quickly, and Alex finds herself laughing more often than not, Jack regaling her with stories while she does the same in return. Things feel surprisingly easy between them, and the ball of nerves that had burrowed into her stomach starts to lessen, starts to ease and unwind, and she finds herself having _fun_. When the check comes, Jack reaches into his pocket for his wallet, tells her not to even _think_ about reaching for her purse, and pays for the meal.

When they leave the restaurant and amble slowly down to the boardwalk, it’s a bit chilly, the wind rolling off the water. They chat quietly as they walk, the moonlight illuminating their path as they stop halfway down the boardwalk, leaning against a little railing whose use is quite unknown. Jack makes a joke, and Alex tilts her head back in laughter for what feels like the thousandth time tonight, and when she looks back at him, he’s studying her, his face a picture of longing, and she feels her stomach turn over on itself – in _anticipation_? The realization stuns her.

The moon is heavy and full; it’s bouncing off the ocean in the background, and Jack is looking at her, his blue eyes boring into hers as his eyes search her face. She knows that look, she’s seen it a thousand times, and for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t want to stop it – because, _oh god, Jack is going to kiss her_ , and before her mind can form any rational defenses or excuses against it, his warm mouth is slanting over hers.

Jack kisses her gently, his lips moving softly against hers. Alex can feel the roughness of his stubble against her face, and it’s not unwelcome. She moves her hand up to touch the side of his face, her thumb smoothing over the roughness there. His tongue ghosts into her mouth for just a moment, and when her tongue chases his, Jack smiles against her mouth, deepening the kiss.

It’s still every bit as gentle, but Alex feels something pull in her chest, and in this moment she can’t tell if her heart is healing or breaking, and she decides maybe it’s both – because maybe she’s letting Matt go, and there is so much of her that wants that and so much of her that doesn’t. At the thought, she can feel the tears burning behind her eyelids and she suddenly pulls away, just a bit, her eyes glazed and wild and searching and just a bit wet.

She feels one tear fall and then another, and she tries to turn towards the ocean to hide, but Jack’s gentle hand on her cheek stops her. He takes in her tears and he looks momentarily stricken.

Jack lets her go, and his voice is a study in pain, “Alex, I’m sorry, I thought –”

Alex sniffs, but doesn’t move to turn to the ocean again, though she can’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze either. Her voice is quiet, “No, no – it’s not that – it’s – I liked it.”

Jack furrows his brow, staring at her confusedly, “And that’s a reason for tears?”

Wrapping her arms around herself, guarding herself from more than the chill that rolls off the ocean, Alex shrugs, “A bit.”

Jack reaches out and tugs on one of her curls, and Alex bites her lip and blinks her eyes in a desperate attempt to stop more tears from falling because Jack’s gesture _reminds her_ , and she just wants to forget.

His deep voice is gravelly and strangely gentle; this man, this strange, rather lovely man who has just met her is _so_ careful with her, like he knows she needs it, “Is it – that _thing_? That may or may not have happened?”

Alex nods, then she _does_ turn and look at the ocean, watching the waves roll in under the moonlight.

It’s always fascinated her, how the moon controls the tide – how everything is _fine_ for the tide until the moon shows up and works its magic, bringing with it ghosts of the past. It’s never been lost on her how the ocean – big, vast, beautiful all on its own – is, at the end of the day, merely at the mercy of the moon; even if it doesn’t want to be, even if the only thing it wants is to be free, to not be beholden to the moon and its whims – like maybe the moon just won’t come back some night, and even when it _does_ , it’s never the same for long. Sometimes it’s full, and sometimes it’s barely there, and the ocean – the ocean just _waits_ , and the ocean just takes what it’s given, thankful it was given anything at all.

She knows a bit how it feels sometimes, the ocean.

“But I don’t want to talk about it,” She whispers, closing her eyes as the wind falls on her face.

“Okay,” Jack says, and then he slips his hand into Alex’s. She opens her eyes and looks down at their joined hands, his skin rough against her soft. He tugs her hand a bit, “Then let’s not talk about it,” He pulls her gently and they walk down the boardwalk, hand-in-hand.

And so, they don’t – they don’t talk about it. They talk about politics, their respective lives, their favorite sounds in the world, Jack’s hand warm in her own as they walk, walk, walk.

They stop outside a little ice cream shop and he buys her a cone of soft serve, despite her protestations: “It’s fifty-five degrees outside.”

Jack hands the cashier money, taking their cones and passing one to her. He gasps, “I thought you were British, Ms. Kingston?”

Alex laughs, “I don’t know – I’m on Fahrenheit now, I think.” She licks her cone, her tongue swirling around the chocolate and vanilla soft serve, giving a little hum of pleasure as the sweetness spreads across her tongue.

They settle on a bench overlooking the ocean, the dim lights of the boardwalk overhead, and Alex happily licks her cone – soft serve is never a bad idea, and she briefly wonders how she could have forgotten _that_. She feels Jack’s eyes on her, and she turns to look at him, “What?” She asks, freezing mid-lick.

Jack chuckles, “Has anyone ever told you that the way you eat ice cream could be considered a sin?”

Alex shoots him a wicked smile, “A time or two,” She takes a slow lick, her eyes locked on his.

Jack watches her frozen, “And probably illegal in at least three countries.”

She shrugs, “Probably more than that, actually,” She takes another lick.

“Probably,” Jack agrees, licking at his own cone and shaking his head, a grin on his face.

When their ice creams are finished, they walk up and down the boardwalk, perusing the little stalls of crafts, still so active even at night. When they are walking hand-in-hand through the canals back to Jack’s car, Alex sighs, looking at the little houses dotting the canal, each a different style coalescing in an eclectic mix that Alex has always loved.

“I love Venice.” She whispers quietly.

Jack chuckles beside her, “I thought you might.”

Alex looks at him, laughing, “Am I that obvious?”

Jack squeezes her hand, “It’s the Birkenstocks that give you away.”

“Shut up,” She playfully slaps his bicep, and he pulls her into him, his arm wrapping around her shoulder.

She stiffens for just a moment before relaxing and burrowing into him a bit more. It is cold, and he is so very warm – and it feels nice to have the protective arm of a man around her, having been without it for so long now.

The moon shines brightly as they walk, finally reaching his car. He pulls the door open for her, and she slides inside, and as Jack slides into the driver’s seat, the moon pours through the windshield and she feels her stomach tighten as she looks at him. She doesn’t know what it means, except that she does a bit and it scares her – _he_ scares her. He starts up the car, turns to look at her – finding her staring, he shoots her a wink, and Alex is thankful for the darkness of the car because she feels herself blush.

The drive back to the hills is quiet, but pleasant, and when they’re almost to the house, Jack pulls off the road at a little turnout on Mulholland overlooking the city. These lookouts are supposed to be closed at night, but there are a few people standing there anyway, looking at the twinkling lights of the city and what few stars can be seen in the night sky from here. When Alex quirks an eyebrow at Jack, he shrugs.

“I’m not ready for the date to be over,” Jack admits, quietly, “Is this okay?”

Alex smiles, though she feels a fresh wave of nerves wash over her, “That depends on what _this_ is.”

“Talking,” Jack smiles at her gently, “Just talking, Alex.” He grins, “Though I’d be lying if I said the idea of necking with you like a teenager isn’t highly appealing,” When she laughs and unclicks her seatbelt, he winks and opens the door, stepping out on to the pavement. She follows suit, closing the door gently behind her.

They make their way to the opposite side of the rather small lookout, away from the other stragglers and lawbreakers. They step over the guardrail and use it as a bench – it’s not quite dangerous, but it feels like it anyway, and Alex feels a bit of adrenaline rush through her veins at the act and at the nearness of Jack, his thigh pressed warmly against hers.

And then they do talk – they talk for well on an hour, leaning against each other for warmth, and Alex finds herself surprised that they never quite seem to run out of things to say. When Alex stifles a yawn, Jack chuckles, nudging her gently with his shoulder.

“I guess it’s probably time to get back,” He stands, and reaches for her hand helping her up and over the guardrail and opening the car door for her again.

By the time they get to the door of the house, it’s very nearly midnight, and Alex laughs, “I feel a bit like a teenager sneaking back into the house after a date.”

Jack laughs before he fumbles with the key, nearly dropping it, “Bloody hell,” He curses under his breath, “And I’ve not even had any alcohol,” By the time he finally opens the door, they’re both laughing too hard for a situation that isn’t all that funny, but it’s tickled both of them and they can’t help it.

The sound echoes in the foyer, and suddenly Jack pulls her into him, kissing her softly. She kisses him back eagerly, her hands clutching at his back as they stumble out of the foyer and into the living room, nearly falling as they laugh against each other’s mouths.

“Have fun, then?”

 _Matt_. His voice cuts through and Alex and Jack spring apart a bit like they _are_ teenagers who have been caught sneaking into the house. Alex turns to see Matt, sitting on the couch, something mindless playing quietly on the television in front of him.

Jack looks uncomfortable for a moment, but to his credit, he doesn’t look angry or put out – he looks almost _understanding_ and a bit sympathetic as he looks at Matt. Jack leans over and presses a soft kiss against Alex’s cheek.

He leans down to whisper in her ear, “I had a lovely time with you, Alex,” He pulls back and winks at her, “See you in the morning.”

Alex watches as Jack casually makes his way to his room, opens the door, and closes it quietly behind him. She stares at it for a moment, as though looking long enough will make the tension she feels disappear. It doesn’t, of course it doesn’t, and she turns to face Matt.

 _Matt_ , and his face betrays everything he’s feeling, and Alex can’t catalogue all of the emotions she reads – she can’t because she can’t bear it, not right now.

Alex looks at her door, right next to the one Jack just went in, and she desperately wants to crawl into her bed and sleep the sleep of someone who is _moving on_ , but she can’t leave Matt like this, and if that means she isn’t moving on, well, she can’t think about that right now. She sighs and steps farther into the room, her eyes locked on Matt as she sinks down into the chair across from the couch. He smells like American beer, cologne, and everything she’s ever wanted but is so terribly scared of.

The ocean, she thinks, is always beholden to the moon – always, always, always.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So he can’t stop himself – he tries, he really does but he can’t, “Have fun, then?”
> 
> The way Alex and Jack spring apart like teenagers who have been caught making out by a parent should give him some sense of joy, but it doesn’t. It’s a hollow victory and he feels petty for it as he watches Alex’s eyes take him in.

Matt had gone to the club, he had. He’d intended to have a fun time, he’d spent the entire uber ride there hyping himself up, telling himself over and over again that a night out is just what he needed, a balm for his heart. Told himself he needed bad techno playing so loud you could barely hear yourself think – told himself it would drown out any and all thoughts of her. He had himself convinced, too, when they finally arrived at the club downtown. He’d managed to convince himself despite the fact that it hadn’t happened in four years – nothing he’d ever tried had been able to drown out thoughts of her completely.

When they step into the club, bypassing the line as people excitedly chatter because _did you see who that was_?, the music washes over him, and he feels it in his bones, rattling them, and he welcomes it as their group makes its way to the bar. He orders a beer, drinks it quickly, then orders a second, drinking it just as quickly before Sabrina, Doug, and Andres head to the dance floor and Deni drags him by the arm to the middle of it.

People move in a sweaty mass, and he remembers a time when he _loved_ this: the pulsating music, the writhing of complete strangers next to him, the feel of the room, hot and humid like a sauna. He doesn’t love it anymore, and he vaguely wonders if maybe he’s just too old for clubs, but even as he thinks it, he knows that’s not it. Not even close.

Deni pulls him into her, her lithe body rubbing against his, and he moves to the music, dancing with abandon, still half-heartedly convinced that this is what he needs to forget. His hands grip her slender hips, and it’s all wrong – all of it is wrong, because he’s suddenly back at every cast party he’d ever spent dancing with Alex. He’s back at a smoky pub in Cardiff with Alex after a night of filming, his hands on her waist as a Welsh band plays in the background.

He’s loved Alex through all of this, through all of these things, and all of them happened even before he knew what her bare hips felt like under the pads of his fingers.

Matt dances with Deni, closing his eyes, feeling the music, trying to cast every memory out of his brain the way he used to when he heard dance music, but it doesn’t work. None of it works and so he excuses himself and grabs another beer at the bar, sitting there sulking, trying to forget that Alex is on a date tonight with someone who isn’t him.

Sabrina hops up onto a newly empty barstool next to him, “You okay, mate?” She asks, then wrinkles her nose, “Oh, wow, doesn’t sound as cool when I say that as it does when you do.”

Matt laughs, finishing off his third beer of the night, “I’m fine.”

Sabrina eyes him, “Yeah,” She nods, tapping the bar in front of her – the bartender places a beer there and another for Matt, “You really look it.”

Matt smiles around his beer, “Shut up.”

Sabrina smiles, “Let me guess,” She holds her hand out to the side, nearly hitting a couple making out, “About yay high,” She eyes him pointedly, “Wild curls, naughty smile, wicked sense of humor,” Sabrina grins, “Curves for days.”

Matt winces, unaware he’d been so bloody obvious, “How’d you guess?” He asks, gripping the neck of his beer bottle tightly.

“I’m good at reading people,” She shrugs, “And you’re less than subtle.”

Matt groans, dropping his head in the hand that isn’t still gripping the bottle, “I just – I don’t know what to do.”

Sabrina laughs, and he looks at her, vaguely offended, “Sure you do.” She takes a long pull of her beer, “Look, Deni is _fine_ , don’t get me wrong – though she’s a bit… I don’t know – vapid?” She sighs, “But, _Alex_ ,” She shakes her head reverently, “That woman is just – something else, entirely.” She laughs, “I mean, there’s women – and then there’s _women_ , you know what I mean?”

Matt chuckles softly. It’s strange to hear his own thoughts about Alex reflected back to him in this way – yelled over the din of a dance club, “A bit hard not to,” Matt agrees, “Sounds like someone has a crush.”

Sabrina grins, “You already know I do, man,” She tips her beer back, draining the last of it, “But I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, unfortunately. And I _do_ love my girlfriend.” Sabrina eyes him knowingly, “You, on the other hand. Hell might just freeze over for you – and the other thing, well.” She looks at him, and Matt is glad to see not an ounce of judgment emanating from her eyes, “I’ve seen the way you look at her – at _Alex_.”

Matt sighs, taking a swig of his beer, “And _how_ do I look at Alex?”

“Like she’s the fucking sun and you’ve been living in some kind of darkness for all your life.” She reaches in her pocket and pulls out some bills, slapping them on the bar, “Like she’s fucking air and you’ve somehow been holding your damn breath for years just to survive long enough get another taste.”

Matt gapes at Sabrina, his mouth falling open.

She laughs and slides off the barstool, “I told you you’re not very subtle, man.” She claps him on the shoulder, “So don’t sit here and act like you don’t know what the fuck to do.” With that, she disappears into the crowd of sweaty writhing bodies, and Matt stands, pays for his beer, takes another long swallow, and makes his way directly out of the club and into the cool night air. He texts Deni from his uber on the way back to the house, telling her he is tired and is going home – she replies only with a sad emoji and he slides his phone back into his pocket.

Matt is home by ten o’clock, and Jack’s car still isn’t back in the driveway. He sits down on the couch, flicks on the television, and tries to pretend to watch something. At eleven, he feels his buzz wearing off a bit and he doesn’t like it, so he makes his way to the refrigerator and grabs another beer, settling back in on the couch. He pretends he’s not staring the clock down, pretends he’s not thinking about where Alex is and who she’s with and what they might be doing. The thought makes him feel a bit ill, and he curses himself for being like this.

He’s pathetic – he’d left a club where his girlfriend, who’d just been voted one of the sexiest women alive by _Esquire_ magazine, was grinding on him on the dance floor and now he’s sitting alone on a couch, with bad television playing in the background while he watches the minutes tick by, each one filling him more and more with dread because he’s too late.

It’s all too late – he’s left it too late and now it’s too late, and if his brain could think of any other words besides _too late_ , he’s sure he would say those too.

Around midnight, he finally hears a car pull in the drive, and he has a moment of panic where he considers running into his room and pretending he hadn’t been in the living room at all. But he cannot move from the couch, finds himself rooted there, and so he just sits, listening as he hears a key enter a lock followed by the sound of laughter – laughter he’d know _anywhere_ , and laughter he is just hearing for the first time. He feels his stomach roil, feels the weight of the moment upon him, and still he cannot move.

When he sees them—Jack and Alex—stumble into the room, kissing, Matt wants to reach out and catch her, to make sure she’s safe, but Jack’s hands are around her waist, and she doesn’t fall, just laughs delightedly against Jack’s mouth as they kiss. Matt swears he feels his heart crack in his chest into a thousand tiny pieces and it fills him with a rage he knows is not logical or rational, but since when is being in love ever any of those things?

So he can’t stop himself – he tries, he really does but he can’t, “Have fun, then?”

The way Alex and Jack spring apart like teenagers who have been caught making out by a parent should give him some sense of joy, but it doesn’t. It’s a hollow victory and he feels petty for it as he watches Alex’s eyes take him in.

Jack looks at him, and Matt is surprised to find no anger there – he is surprised to find something that resembles compassion, and it fuels Matt’s rage a bit more because if Alex is going to choose someone else, can he not be such a bloody good guy, honestly?

Matt watches as Jack kisses Alex’s cheek and whispers in her ear and she smiles – she _smiles_ – and Matt feels like he might honestly be sick, like maybe it was a bad idea to put five beers in his stomach and exactly zero food.

Jack walks to his door, offering Matt a tight smile, and then he’s alone with Alex. Matt watches as the war within her rages – he can _see_ it. She wants to go to her room, wants to leave him here in the living room with his misery, and part of him wants to tell her to go – wants to _let her go_ , but he can’t do that.

He did that four years ago, and look how well it’s turned out for him. Look at him, alone on the couch, the woman of his dreams so close to him yet _so far away_.

She sits down in the chair across from the couch and looks at him, her hair framing her face. She looks beautiful – _beautiful_ – and it kills him that he isn’t the one who spent the entire night looking at her. It kills him that it was someone else.

As the silence stretches between them, Alex sighs, shaking her head. She watches him carefully, her eyes scanning his face, and he knows immediately what she sees there: _everything_. He can’t hide it, not anymore.

Matt wants to open his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say – doesn’t know what he _can_ say because every conversation he’d run in his head over the last four years seems strangely inadequate now that the moment is finally upon him.

So, Alex speaks first, “Matt, don’t make this harder than it already is.” She runs her hand over her face, looking at him.

Matt can’t help it – he smirks, lets the bitterness find its way into his voice, because he’d just seen another man’s hands on Alex, and he _hated_ it, “I don’t know, Alex, looked pretty easy to me.” Alex winces at his tone, and the stricken look on her face takes the air out his sails a bit, “Was it so easy?” He asks quietly.

“Was  _what_ easy?” She asks, her voice just as quiet.

“Leaving me.” He states, simply.

The shock is evident on Alex’s face and her mouth drops open as she shakes her head, “That’s not what happened, Matt – we weren’t – I didn’t,”

“Okay,” Matt concedes, because he’s too tired not to, “Whatever we were, whatever you did, was it so easy?”

Alex leans back into her chair and kicks her sandals off, rubbing her temple gently, “Of course it wasn’t,” She answers, finally.

Matt laughs, but it’s mirthless, a bit cold, and he knows his eyes match as he looks at her, “Really? You could have fooled me, Alex.” His tone is _mean_ , he knows it is, but she’d left him. Whatever she wanted to call it now, she left him four years ago – _jilted_ and _heartbroken_.

Matt sees the anger flash across her face, “Of course it wasn’t bloody well easy, Matt!” She raises her voice, but it’s still quiet, the anger pulsing underneath her words, “I had to change my bloody passwords on everything – _everything_ , do you know that? I had to change them all to _it’s for the best_ , because I needed a daily reminder, Matt. I needed a daily fucking reminder that I didn’t need to _ruin your life_ by calling you,” She sighs, “But just because it was hard – just because it _is_ so bloody hard – doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right decision.”

He gapes at her – his mouth hanging open because _what_? He feels the anger rise in his body, feels it root in his veins and take hold, “Christ, Alex,” He runs a shaky hand through his hair, “If it was so bloody hard, maybe it means _exactly_ that. Maybe it means that it was _exactly_ the wrong decision.” He sighs, “Instead, you come here, you take this role, you go out with _him_ ,” He spits the word out, refusing to say his name, “And now you’re sitting here telling me _how hard_ it was for you back then? How hard it is for you – what, _still_?” He looks at her, his gaze hot and burning.

Matt finds that her gaze matches his, blaze for blaze, “You’re one to talk.” She spits the words at him, her tone matching his precisely, “I heard you, you know. I heard you last night with Deni.” She folds her arms over her chest, suddenly looking uncomfortable, “She’s – well, she’s quite the screamer, isn’t she?”

Matt sits up on the edge of the couch, trying to make sense of what she’s saying, but he can’t, “What in the bloody hell are you on about, Alex, _last night_? What do you mean _you heard_?”

Alex rolls her eyes like he’s the daftest man on the planet – and sometimes he is, but he is genuinely quite lost this time, “I heard her – your _girlfriend_ , Matt.” She explains, “I heard your girlfriend screaming your name last night.”

He still doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but the gears click slowly into place in his tipsy brain, and he rushes to explain, realizing what must have happened, what Deni must have done after he’d left, “I – I was out for a run, okay? I wasn’t here. I wasn’t even _here_.” He runs his hand through his hair again, tugging a bit on the ends, “I – god, she put her mouth on me, Alex, and I closed my eyes and I wished it was you – I almost said your fucking name, do you understand?” This is on the list of _top ten things you probably should never say to the woman you love but who doesn’t want you_ , he’s sure of it, and it’s probably somewhere near the top, but his brain and heart aren’t working in concert right now, and it’s so imperative to him that she knows that whatever she heard wasn’t what she thinks it was, “And so I left.” He shakes his head, “I left and I went for a run through these hills, and all I heard with every step of my shoe against the pavement was _you_. That’s all I heard. It’s all I’ve heard for four damn years – you _haunt_ me, Alex.”

Alex looks stunned – and he swears he sees tears in her eyes glistening in the dim light of the living room, the glow from the TV illuminating their faces.

“I thought…” She starts, but trails off, shaking her head, “I thought you were trying to tell me something. Trying to tell me – I don’t know,” She shakes her head again, “I really don’t know. But _something_. I thought you were… that it was on purpose.” She looks pained as she finishes, her voice tight, as though she’s guarding against tears.

Matt stares at her, his eyes searching her face – her beautiful face that speaks to him in ways no one ever has – even in anger, even in sadness.

His voice is a quiet, sad whisper, “The only thing I ever wanted to tell you was something you didn’t want to hear, Alex.” He feels the words bubbling up from the place he’d shoved them down into for four years – no interruptions this time, just the truth as he has always known it, as he will always know it, “But here it is, anyway: _I love you_. I loved you then, I’ve loved you in the four years that have stretched between us, and I bloody well love you now.”

Alex looks at him, her expression heavy and a bit sad, “No,” She shakes her head in disbelief, “You’re with someone. You’re happy.” She says it so quietly, like it’s the last vestige of whatever wall she’s built around herself, and he finds himself wondering just how many times she’s told herself this. How many times she repeated it at night as she tried to fall asleep.

He inhales slowly, “Yes, I am with someone because I couldn’t bear to see you move on.” He exhales, “And here you are, moving on.” He shakes his head, feeling a quiet sort of desperation take hold of him, “But I’m not _happy_. I haven’t been _fucking_ happy in four years, and you know it. You _know_ it, Alex.”

“Matt…” She says his name so sadly, her voice breaking on the single syllable.

“You know it,” He repeats for a third time, his voice steady, sure, “And if you could just let yourself –”

Alex’s face contorts at that, and he can see the pain, raw and real etch itself into her face, “I can’t – Matt,” She shakes her head, “I _can’t_.”

He feels the anger flood through him again, but he tamps it down, just barely containing it though he imagines a bit of it still seeps into his words, “Why?” He asks, the word rolling off his tongue a bit like a curse, “Tell me why.”

Alex sighs, looking at him, her eyes dark pools of raw emotion. He watches her war with herself for at least the second time tonight, and he wonders if she’s going to tell him the truth – if she’s going to open up to him the way he just has opened up to her. He sees the moment her decision is made and she closes her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. Her voice is broken, sad, “Because men love me, Matthew, and then they leave me.” She purses her lips, “They always leave.”

The pain in her voice strikes something in him and he feels every emotion he has ever felt for her slip through his veins, carrying the words through his body, through his heart until they fall from his lips, the promises, “ _I won’t leave you_ , Alex.” The frustration overcomes him a bit and he drops his head in his hand for a moment, scrubbing his palm roughly down his face, “What can’t you understand about that?” He looks at her, staring, before he finally continues, “Alex, I will love you until I’m on my death bed. I’ll love you long after even that, no matter what kind of afterlife I find. Heaven, hell, nirvana, reincarnation, I don’t care – I will love you and I will _fucking_ find you.” His eyes plead with her as the next words nearly stick in his throat, “Even if you don’t want me in _this_ lifetime, I will take a thousand chances in the next in the hopes that you will in that one.” He sighs, “Because you’re worth it. You’re bloody worth it.”

She looks at him, her mouth dropped open, a flush on her cheeks, and she shakes her head against his words, “You’re drunk.”

He looks at her pointedly, “I’m honest.”

He watches the frustration settle over her face and she splays her hands out in front of her in desperation, panic in her voice when she speaks, “Why do you have to be so – so-” She doesn’t finish, just looks at him, her eyes incredibly sad now, “You can’t be sure. You can’t _make_ those promises.”

He does not hesitate, “I am. I can.” He makes his voice clear, concise, “And if you don’t want to hear them, fine, Alex. That’s fine – but I won’t stop myself from saying them, not anymore.” He sighs, “I know men have left you, I know what they’ve done to you – and I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t meet me first, I’m sorry I’m not older, I’m sorry for every single day you have spent in your life feeling not good enough. You are – my _god_ you are. But I am not now nor will I ever be sorry for how I feel about you, Alex. For how I have always felt about you.” He considers her, watching as she bites her lower lip, drawing it into her mouth and worrying it with her teeth, “For how I will _always_ feel about you. Do you understand?”

“Matt,” She whispers, and he can hear the tears in her voice, “You don’t know what you’re saying – you don’t, you cannot possibly mean that.”

“I do know what I’m saying.” He nods, then lets out a little laugh, the sound echoing a bit in the room, “I’m not that drunk. And I _do_ mean it – tonight, I mean it more than ever. Because four years of telling myself every day that you don’t want me, that you don’t love me back, didn’t do the trick – it didn’t get you out of my blood Alex, and so I’ve come to realize that nothing ever will.”

Matt moves from the couch then, moves so that he’s kneeling before her where she’s leaning on the edge of her chair. His eyes search her face and he sees the fear there, plain as day, but underneath it he sees the longing. The exact same longing he feels.

He reaches out and tucks a curl back, his fingertips running gently along the shell of her ear before he tugs on the lobe. She is silent, watching him, her breath coming shallow. He smiles at her because she is _so beautiful_ , the coalescing of everything he has ever wanted in his entire life, everything he held in his hands but only for a moment, and it wasn’t long enough.

A _lifetime_ wouldn’t be near long enough.

“If you can’t believe that, Alex,” He whispers, his thumb moving gently along her cheekbone, “Believe this.” He leans in and presses a kiss to her lips – she makes a sound of surprise, but _thank god_ , she does not pull away.

Instead, Alex kisses him back, and his heart swells in his chest because he feels the return of whatever hope he once had at the feel of her lips moving against his. He darts his tongue into her mouth and she whimpers against him, her hands fisting in his hair.

She tastes like ice cream and sacrifice and _god_ he has missed her tongue moving against his like she knows him from the inside out. He groans into her mouth, his hands slipping up into her hair even as her hands slide down to his back and clutch the material of his shirt.

The kiss is tender and loving and a bit sad, because even as her taste bursts across his tongue like a long-lost artifact he’s spent his life searching for, he knows that it will end.

The thought makes him cling to her, makes his hands fist in her curls as he holds her to him, drinking in every sound she makes in the back of her throat. He kisses her sweetly, gently, in the hopes that she may know the truth as he has told it, as he has written it across his broken heart. For her.

When she finally pulls away from him, her hands tangled in his hair once again, he sees that she is crying. Tears are rolling down her cheeks and she slides her hands from his hair to swipe at them.

“Alex?” He asks, his voice suddenly so small and timid.

“I’m sorry,” She swipes at more tears.

Matt reaches up and gently grabs her forearms, stilling her movements. He leans in and gently kisses the tears from her face, “You don’t ever have to apologize to me, Alex. Not ever.” He pulls back when he sees her start crying harder.

Alex buries her head in her hands and her shoulders shake with the effort of her tears, coming fast and hard as they wrack her body. He sits back on his heels, a helpless feeling washing over him as he watches her. He wants to reach out and touch her, to give her some semblance of comfort, but his hand set gently on her knee, his thumb swiping over her flesh causes her sobs to come faster and so he pulls his hand away. After a moment that feels like it stretches into an hour for how much his heart hurts at the painful sound of Alex crying, she takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I just – I need – I…” She trails off, her head still in her hands, her voice muffled by her palms. Finally, she looks at him, and her eyes are red and so wet, her nose the same color as her eyes and she is _beautiful_ , even now. She takes a deep breath again, slightly less shaky this time, “I _want_ to,” She whispers, and her voice is so quiet that Matt has to lean forward to hear it, “I want to believe you – I just…” Her expression is pained, and Matt feels it in his chest, “I don’t know if I can, darling.” Her voice breaks on her pet name for him, and she reaches her hand out, her palm soft and warm against his cheek as he nuzzles into it. “I think – I think that ship may have sailed for me.”

Matt wants to ask what she means, but he knows – he _knows_. Alex doesn’t know if she can ever believe anyone again, trust anyone again, especially someone starting with so many red marks against him – namely, his age. His _bloody_ age. He wants to be angry, he wants to grab her and kiss some sense into her, but he loves her _too much_.

So, he turns his head towards her palm and presses a soft kiss against her skin, his eyes never leaving hers. She draws her lip into her mouth with her teeth, and he kisses her palm again, watching her sharp intake of breath.

“Do you love me?” Matt asks, his voice dangerously quiet now.

The tears swell in her eyes again, threatening to overflow, “Matt…”

“Do you love me?” He asks again, and then brings his hand up over hers, pressing her palm tighter against his face, “Don’t answer it for me now if you can’t. But answer it for yourself, Alex.” He leans into her touch, wondering if it’s the last time he will feel her skin against his own, hoping with everything he is that it isn’t, “And if you answer it for yourself, and if that answer is _yes_ – then _believe me_ , and remember that you deserve happiness.” His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, so wrought with emotion, “I swear it’s what I want for you, it’s _all_ I ever want for you,” His eyes drift over her shoulder to the closed door behind which is Jack, “Even if it isn’t with me.”

Her breath hitches at his words and he drops her palm from his face, giving her hand a squeeze. He leans forward and places a gentle kiss against the corner of her mouth, then stands, grabbing her by the hand. He pulls her up from the chair and leads her to her door, dropping her hand and placing another kiss against her cheek – “Goodnight, Alex.” He whispers against her skin, and when he pulls back her eyes are closed.

“Night,” She whispers, opening her eyes and looking at him one final time before she opens her door and slides inside, closing it behind her.

Matt looks at the closed door for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair, lets out a heavy sigh, and then goes to his room. He sits on the bed for a moment, thinking.

He knows what Deni did here in this bed last night – and he knows enough about her now that he hadn’t known before to know that she’d done it on purpose. And even if she hadn’t, what he confessed tonight to Alex made it impossible to sleep here. With a sigh, he stands and pulls some clothes out of his dresser. He grabs his phone charger and a blanket from the closet and takes his pillow off the bed.

Matt goes downstairs to a spare room converted into an office – a little futon sits in the corner. It’s too short for him, but he lies on it anyway, his feet sticking off the end. He plugs his phone in and types out a text to Deni – he’d call, but he knows she won’t answer.

_I know what you did_.

He deletes it; it sounds dramatic even to him.

_Sleeping elsewhere tonight – we need to talk at some point tomorrow_.

He hits send, but even as he does, he knows she won’t respond – he will have to force the issue at some point, and soon. Because even if Alex doesn’t choose him – even if she chooses Jack – Matt can’t go on like this. It isn’t fair to him, and it isn’t fair to Deni, conniving though she may be.

Matt tugs the blanket up around his shoulders, huffing a bit when his feet poke out at the bottom. He burrows his head into the soft pillow and thinks – just _thinks_.

About Alex. He only ever thinks about Alex these days – and he would hate it, but he loves it too much. He loves _her_ too much, and as he drifts off to sleep he is gripped with the sudden fear that it still may not be enough to break through the thick walls other men who were not careful with her heart had built and reinforced.

But as sleep finally takes him, he knows one thing: he won’t stand silent on the other side of those walls any longer. He will bloody his fists against them, knowing full well he may have to live with the damage, and knowing it might be permanent – but he can do that for her, only for her.

Only _ever_ for her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t mean to step on your toes or anything.” Jack explains, his voice low.
> 
> Matt hears Maggie’s rustling in the corner slow a bit and he shakes his head in fondness. Eavesdropper.
> 
> “You didn’t, mate.” He lies – of course he lies. Jack’s been tap-dancing all over his bloody toes since they all went to lunch that very first day.
> 
> Jack considers him, running his fingers over his apparently permanent five o’clock shadow, “Didn’t I?”
> 
> Matt fixes Jack with what he hopes is a convincing stare and simply shakes his head, “No.”
> 
> Jack chuckles a bit, “My mistake,” He replies.
> 
> “For the record,” Jack shifts in his chair, steepling his hands in his lap, “While toe-stepping was certainly unintentional, and as much as I do like you, Matt, I need to let you know that I don’t intend to stop pursuing Alex.”
> 
> “Good,” Matt nods once, “She deserves that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit NSFW at the beginning (you'll see it coming), so please skip over that bit if it isn't your jam.

Matt wakes up with a blanket tucked around his chin, his feet sticking out in the cool morning air as they hang off the end of the too-small futon. He groans, rubbing his eyes against the sunlight peeking into the window of the office turned guest room and the headache threatening to form – he feels a bit worse for wear, and he knows it’s not from the beer. It’s from the emotions that flooded through him last night; he hasn’t had a night like that in ages.

All at once the words come rushing back to him and he opens his eyes, sitting up a little on the futon. He reaches for his phone and feels a sense of dread tugging at his stomach, but he doesn’t have any texts or missed calls from anyone.

He knows Deni isn’t in the house right now – she’d made him memorize her schedule a couple of weeks ago, and she is at some photo-shoot for something or other this morning before she is due on set. For the first time in a long while he feels a bit disappointed that they’re not in the house at the same time – he’d quite like to get this bit over with, because he isn’t exactly looking forward to it. To the end result, absolutely. But the actual _breaking up_ , not so much.

Matt knows what he has to do – he knows he must end things with Deni – but even though it’s absolutely what’s right, it still feels a bit difficult. Things like this, he supposes, always are. Whatever her faults or her true personality, this is a thing that would hurt her – and Matt had never been fond of hurting people.

Still, even with the impending breakup long past due, Matt feels lighter than he has in years. Finally, he’d been able to tell Alex what had been on his heart, what had been _in_ his heart for her even long before they shared their night together.

And he’d kissed her again – he’d felt her lips under his, felt her taste dance across his tongue, and even now hours and dreams about her later, he feels like he can still taste her in his mouth. It’s not some distant memory he has to fight to hold on to – it’s fresh and new and she still tastes the same, still makes those little noises in the back of her throat when he slips his tongue into her mouth. She’s still his favorite kisser, bar none; those full lips pressed against his the stuff of dreams, honestly. His, for years and years now.

Fighting the urge to pull the blanket up over his eyes and sleep some more, Matt reluctantly slings the blanket off instead, standing and stretching and resolutely ignoring the pounding in his head and ache in his back. As uncomfortable as his back feels now, he still can’t help but feel like he’s gotten the best sleep of his life on this little futon, even despite the headache now clawing at his brain.

In fact, he’d quite like to curl up on the futon again and continue whatever dreams he’d had last night – beautifully domestic ones, from what he remembers, from a life with Alex he desperately wants to have.

But he’s got to be on set today in just a few hours to film and do a press junket; with several news crews and entertainment shows coming to the set today to get a behind the scenes look as well as conduct some on-set interviews, today is going to be very busy. He can’t quite sleep it away, despite how much he’d like to in the moment.

Then, of course, there is the small matter of breaking up with his girlfriend – he somehow has to fit _that_ into his daily routine today as well, not to mention finding words to say to the woman he’d spent four years pining for and to whom he’d bared his ridiculous heart and soul the night prior.

 _Eventful_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Grabbing some clothes from where he’d stashed them last night, he heaves a sigh and then makes his way to the downstairs bathroom. Turning on the water to the hottest setting possible, he sheds his sleep clothes and steps inside, the tile cool under his feet as the warm water washes over him. He ducks his head under the spray and rubs his hand over his face, the splash of water against his skin waking him up and making him feel a bit more alert.

He lathers up some body wash – some vanilla bean something or other – and washes himself, his hands running over his body while his mind drifts. Inevitably, it drifts to last night, to the feel of Alex’s warm mouth under his own, to the feel of her tongue against his, the way she still kisses him like he’s the only thing she’s ever wanted.

She _is_ the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“Shit,” Matt swears softly as he feels himself growing hard – he’s not a bloody teenager, he should not be getting an erection simply because he’d _kissed_ Alex last night. It had been a tender, romantic kiss between them, not frantic and sex-charged – but he can’t deny his body’s obvious response to the memory.

He considers ignoring it, turning the cold water on and forcing it away, trying to make it disappear with any number of unsexy thoughts but there’s only one thought in his mind, really: Alex. And she’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

Resigned, and also vaguely wondering if it will stop the pounding in his head, Matt steps a bit out of the spray of the water and reaches down to grasp himself at his base before his hand begins working up over himself, his thumb flicking across his tip before his hand slides back down again. He knows exactly how to touch himself and he bites his lip to stifle a groan at the pleasure that sweeps through him.

He’s been doing this a long time – in fact, one of his first true memories of taking himself in hand is in his room, a pillow pressed up under his door to muffle the sound, Moll Flanders naked from the waist up on his tiny telly screen. He’d watched those risqué scenes over and over again throughout the years, always one of his go-tos for moments like this, along with half the population of England. But the tender sex scene was always his favorite – he’d always imagined it was _him_ doing those things to Moll and then eventually to Alex, touching and kissing her gently, reverently. He imagined it was his mouth on her breast, his teeth tugging at her nipple causing her to drop her head back and gasp in unspeakable pleasure.

This morning in the shower, he doesn’t need to call upon those scenes, though. He remembers every tender, gentle moment between he and Alex four years ago and he thinks about every one of them in rapid succession as he strokes himself now.

He doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s strange that he’s fantasizing about touching _her_ instead of imagining her touching him. He just remembers the feel of her soft skin under his, her sweet cries in his ear, the taste of her beneath his tongue as he lapped at her.

Matt’s hand works faster on himself now, imagining his face buried between Alex’s thighs, her taste bursting across his tongue. He still remembers exactly how to touch her, exactly how to slide two fingers into her and watch her eyes widen as she bucks her hips into his mouth, her hand threading in his hair and holding his face against her.

He imagines her now, his face between her thighs, her body writhing, a string of curses falling from those beautiful, sensual lips. He imagines her breaking underneath his tongue as his fingers pump in and out of her, curling on the in-stroke just the way she likes – he imagines her calling his name as she comes in his mouth, clenching his fingers as he continues licking her through her orgasm.

Matt’s hand works faster and faster until Alex’s face as she orgasms burns behind his closed eyes and he comes with a groan of her name echoing off the shower walls as he spills all over his hand, his forehead resting against the cool tile. A shudder runs through his body and he swallows, moving his hand down his length and then back up once more, dragging the last moments of pleasure from himself before he steps back under the spray of the warm water and rinses himself clean.

After he gets out of the shower, he dresses quickly, does his hair, and then slips out the back door of the house, not really ready to face any of his fellow cast mates after the emotional night he had. At least, not until he gets to more neutral territory.

Matt takes the long way to set, winding down the back side of the Hollywood Hills and cutting through side streets as he makes his way to the studio they’re scheduled to film in for the day. He passes strip mall after strip mall and is reminded of how different the landscape in LA is to the rest of the country; to the rest of the world, at least as much as he’s seen of it.

Still, it’s become a rather reluctant home for him, and he knows these shortcuts more and more each day. Knows how to get where he’s going without getting lost, and frequently without even getting caught up in the bulk of traffic that constantly plagues the city’s freeways – if only his life could be so smooth.

He pulls up to the security gate, says hello to the guard, and pulls in to his parking spot – the one with his name on a small sign in front of it: _Matt Smith_. It’s such a small thing but every time he sees it, it feels a little surreal to him.

If someone had told him even back in his _Who_ days that he would have a parking spot at a big Los Angeles studio with his name on it, reserved specifically for him, he’d not have believed it for one second. He’d have rolled his eyes and assumed someone was taking the piss.

But his career has flourished in astounding ways since he stopped being the Doctor, and a very big part of him is eternally grateful for that, because once upon a time it was more than he could have imagined or hoped for. After the sudden collapse of his first dream when he was a teenager, it was hard for him to put his faith in another – but it’s worked out for him, this acting career, and it doesn’t always for people in his profession. He’s gotten very lucky, he knows, and he’s glad of his career.

As he locks his car and pockets his keys in his jeans, though, he can’t help but think about Alex’s words to him a couple of weeks ago as they sat and stared at the ocean, the waves lapping tirelessly at the shore. She seemed adamant that he would have none of this – not this role, not his film offers, not his little parking spot on the lot – if they’d made a serious go of a relationship together.

He doesn’t agree with her; he thinks the world would have taken – either wholeheartedly or begrudgingly - to them as a couple, the press would have backed off eventually and his career still could have flourished in the same ways. Or maybe in different ways – maybe their careers could have flourished _together_ , he doesn’t know.

What Matt _does_ know as he walks into set on this gloomy morning, the clouds covering the sun like they’re hiding a secret, is that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if she _is_ right – he doesn’t care if the press would have torn him apart limb by limb, if casting directors would have treated him like a pariah; he doesn’t care if he would have ended up working as a bloody valet parking other people’s cars for a living, never offered a single role again in his entire life.

He would have given _everything_ up for her – every single thing. He would have let his name fall into oblivion, let himself be relegated to the Doctor and nothing else for the rest of his life for her, frozen his acting career in the annals of time for Alex.

The truth is, he still would – he would make that choice again and again and there is a very large part of him that feels angry with her because she never even let him prove it, never gave him the chance to choose _her_. She never asked him what _he_ wanted in all of this, she just made the choice for him – and, perhaps even worse, she let him think she was making the decision for herself.

Matt should have known, he should have known she would try to fall on her bloody sword for him because that’s who she is. That’s who she’s always been, and the thing is that _he_ would fall on a thousand swords for her if she’d let him, for his Alex who can never seem to believe she truly deserves it. That she is truly worth it.

Matt shakes his head as he walks through the soundstage and back towards hair and makeup - his eyes scan the set as he passes, but he doesn’t see Alex, and his heart sinks a little even as his stomach lurches.

He wants to see her because he _always_ wants to see her, but he’s a little bit wary, too, because of how they’d left things last night. Because he asked her a question that he doesn’t know the answer to – and he fears that when the answer finally comes, it won’t be the one he wants to hear. He fears it will be the one that will scatter his heart, the one that will make the still-broken pieces tenuously held together with hope fly apart.

Still, he will always want to see her; that will never change, no matter the fear – no matter how much it breaks his heart.

He pushes the door to hair and makeup open, smiling at Maggie as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“Maggie!” Matt exclaims, walking over to the makeup chair, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes this morning?”

Maggie snorts, rolling her eyes, “This is nothing,” Maggie grins at him, “You should see me at night,” She pulls Matt’s shade of makeup out of her kit, looking at him through the mirror and raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Matt feels stunned, his face frozen for a moment just before Maggie bursts out laughing. She grabs a few more supplies from her kit, then turns around to look at him, still cackling.

“Oh, hon, you should see your face right now.” She says it like he can’t just look in the mirror and make that happen.

Matt starts to chuckle then, a sound that soon enough turns into a full on laugh. Shaking his head, he walks over to the makeup chair, settling himself in. He wags his finger at Maggie, “I think you’ve been hanging out with Alex Kingston a bit too much.”

Maggie laughs, setting her makeup on the extended arm of the chair Matt is sitting in, “That’s what we call an oxymoron, hon. _Too much Alex Kingston_ , ‘cause there’s just no such thing.” Maggie looks at him pointedly before she opens his makeup and starts dabbing at it with a clean sponge.

Matt snorts, “Too right,” He agrees. He’d spend the rest of this lifetime with Alex and it still wouldn’t be enough for him – far from it, actually.

He’s just about to say something a bit cheeky in reply when the door to hair and makeup swings open. Matt turns his head and sees Jack walking in – he’s halfway through the door when he looks up and sees Matt. He stops in his tracks for just a moment before he clears his throat and steps fully through the door.

“Well,” Maggie says, stopping what she’s doing to grab a folded up director’s chair and place it right next to Matt, “If it isn’t Mr. Blue-eyed Romance himself.” Maggie steps back in front of Matt’s chair and picks up her sponge, though she still looks at Jack, “Have a nice night?”

Jack clears his throat again and Matt can’t help but watch him in the mirror as he wrings his hands in his lap and refuses to return Matt’s stare in the mirror.

“Yeah,” Jack smiles, and Matt is loath to see the way his eyes soften with emotion, “I did.”

Maggie sweeps the makeup filled sponge over Matt’s face and he feels his heart lurch as he watches Jack in the mirror, his face still soft, his eyes still holding the fondness that is a given when it comes to Alex Kingston.

Matt can’t blame Jack, really, but it doesn’t stop the tight knot of jealousy forming in his chest. He does want Alex to be happy – he wants that more than anything – but _god_ , if he’s absolutely honest, he wants Alex to be happy with _him_ , not Jack.

Matt glances at Maggie and she’s wearing just the barest of smirks and Matt suddenly realizes that she knows _exactly_ what she’s doing.

“You’re trouble,” Matt leans forward and whispers, low enough so only she can hear.

Maggie just shrugs, dipping the sponge back into the makeup and streaking a bit across Matt’s face, “Gotta hold on to a woman like that,” Maggie says, her voice nowhere near low enough to be a secret, as she begins blending the makeup in.

The words crawl up Matt’s throat and lodge there; the words die on his tongue: _I tried_.

And they leave an acrid taste in his mouth because he wonders what he always wonders when he thinks back on that night, on the years in between: _Did he try hard enough_?

Matt clears his throat this time, and it’s his turn to avoid Jack’s gaze in the mirror. Maggie drops the sponge on the floor, utters a curse as she tosses it into a bin, and then moves to the corner of the room where she roots around in a bag that looks like it’s more of a tote an entire family would bring to the beach than a purse of any kind.

Matt shifts in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs, trying his best not to let the awkward moment eat away at him, but it does.

Jack finally turns his head to look at him – Matt feels the gaze on the side of his face and he wants to look away, wants to be just that kind of petty, but he can’t bring himself to do it. So, he turns to look back at Jack, his blue eyes watching Matt with a sort of burning curiosity.

“I didn’t mean to step on your toes or anything.” Jack explains, his voice low.

Matt hears Maggie’s rustling in the corner slow a bit and he shakes his head in fondness. Eavesdropper.

Matt forces a smile – not sure what the protocol is here, having never been in a situation quite like this before. “You didn’t, mate.” He lies – of course he lies. Jack’s been tap-dancing all over his bloody toes since they all went to lunch that very first day.

Jack considers him, running his fingers over his apparently permanent five o’clock shadow, “Didn’t I?”

Matt fixes Jack with what he hopes is a convincing stare and simply shakes his head, “No.”

Jack’s eyebrows climb in disbelief and Matt instantly knows that he’s not fooling anyone.

And how could he have, really? He’d been waiting up in the bloody shadows for Jack and Alex to get back from their date last night, after all. He’d been fake-watching the telly like a jealous ex when even _that_ isn’t what Matt is to Alex, not really. He’s just jealous – lovesick and jealous and one look at the way Jack observes him now confirms that it’s obvious.

Jack chuckles a bit, “My mistake,” He replies, apparently deciding to be gracious and let Matt save a bit of face. Matt should be grateful, but it enrages him a bit instead because all of this would be so much easier if Jack were an asshole.

Instead, Jack’s a very nice bloke who seems genuinely interested in Alex and that makes hating him much harder than it should be.

Matt still manages just fine, of course, but it isn’t easy; he has to work at it.

“For the record,” Jack shifts in his chair, steepling his hands in his lap, “While toe-stepping was certainly unintentional, and as much as I do like you, Matt, I need to let you know that I don’t intend to stop pursuing Alex.”

Matt clenches his jaw, turning away from Jack to face the mirror again. He sees Maggie still pretending to root around in her bag and Matt looks at Jack in the mirror, “Good,” Matt nods once, “She deserves that.” He tries not to speak through gritted teeth, but he knows that he fails miserably, even though he’s telling the truth, “Alex deserves the bloody world and someone who’s not afraid to give it to her.” He mumbles, feeling the rage subside as it’s replaced by an overwhelming sadness instead.

“We agree on that much, at least,” Jack says, his bloody stupid kind blue eyes meeting Matt’s in the mirror.

Matt offers him a terse nod, just as Maggie finally approaches, a new sponge in her hand.

Matt sighs, closing his eyes to let Maggie work. It’s not even eleven in the morning and he’s already run through the gamut of emotions today. The sadness, though, lodges itself in his chest now, and he feels like it’s taunting him a bit.

He’d never honestly considered that he might actually _lose_ Alex to Jack – not until he saw the softness on Jack’s face when he thinks and talks about Alex.

Matt knows that look well – he’s been wearing it since the first day he met her.

It’s the same one Kaz and Arthur used to tease him mercilessly about until he blushed and stammered and told them to shut the hell up, all while being unable to deny it.

But seeing that look on Jack’s face snaps Matt back into reality and he thinks seriously for the first time that he may lose her again, that he may have to let her go again.

Because he’d meant it earlier – he’d do anything for Alex. Give up _anything_ for her – including her, if she asked him to. If it is what she truly wants, there is nothing he can deny her – even that. It’s a sobering and painful thought that makes his heart ache in his chest.

The rest of the makeup session passes in a terse silence, and Maggie spends a considerable amount of time looking between both he and Jack before she finally breaks the silence. “Thank god you boys come to makeup first. This sort of tension would be wasted on that tart Millie from wardrobe.”

Matt eyes Maggie, but at her amused look he can’t help but laugh. At least someone’s apparently getting a kick out of this.

“You both need a hell of a lot more work than your girl, I’ll have you both know.” Maggie shakes her head, powdering Matt’s face with a bit of a flourish.

Jack snorts at her comment and Matt lets out a strangled sound he desperately hopes can be construed as a laugh because the thought of Alex being someone else’s ‘girl’ actually physically _hurts_ him. And he knows he doesn’t have a claim on her – but god, it’s still not something he ever wants to hear.

Matt slides out of the director’s chair and resists the urge to turn back to look at Jack, he’s spent enough time looking at him this morning – enough time seeing the weight of the other man’s emotions for Alex, and that hurts him, too.

Instead, he tugs the door open and heads to set, his mind reeling with everything that’s happened already this morning. And he’s still not even done what he thought would be the biggest thing to happen to his day yet.

When he makes it to set, Daniel introduces him to one of the many news crews filming today – Extra or Access Hollywood or some E! show. Matt doesn’t really hear, actually, because halfway through introductions, he sees Alex’s hair out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly he can’t look anywhere else, let alone concentrate on introductions, however important they may actually be.

The woman from whatever-the-hell show asks him a question and Matt nods, adding a noncommittal sound, all the while staring at Alex as she makes her way across the soundstage heading towards hair and makeup. She looks tired, he notices, but she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he needn’t wonder if it shows on his face, his affection and concern for her, because the woman who will be interviewing him in just a while turns to look behind her, following his obvious gaze. Seeing Alex, the woman turns back around to fix him with a stare that looks both curious and knowing all at once.

Matt smiles awkwardly and rubs his hand across the back of his neck. The woman opens her mouth to speak, but Daniel interrupts and calls him in to the scene now that set up is finally done.

He gives an awkward wave to the woman, glancing over her shoulder and watching Alex and her unruly curls disappear around a corner. He spins on his heel and steps into his scene. It’s a short scene with Doug and Andres that Matt would usually be able to nail in his bloody sleep.

But he’s so distracted that he keeps missing his lines or his cue to cross left. One time, he actually says Doug’s line and everyone just looks at him a bit incredulously. This isn’t normal for him, and everyone knows it – including the news crew still watching from the sideline, apparently.

“Right,” Matt says, scratching his cheek, “Sorry,” He feels embarrassed, never one to have these sorts of problems on set. He’s always been able to put his personal business aside and it’s frustrating that he can’t seem to do that now.

Daniel peeks around the camera, “You okay, man?” There’s a note of concern in his voice, and Matt is pleased to not hear anger.

Matt nods, forcing a smile he doesn’t really feel, “Yeah. Let’s go again.”

Daniel nods this time and calls action; Matt’s take is stiff and uninspired, but it’s worlds above everything else he just did so Daniel finally calls cut and decides they have enough for this particular scene, though Matt won’t be surprised if most of his bits end up on the cutting room floor.

Doug and Andres look at him in curiosity but Matt just nods and heads over to craft services to get a cup of tea, something to calm him down a bit. There’s not much a cup of tea – even American tea – can’t make at least a bit better.

He’s halfway through a pour when he sees Alex appear around the same corner he’d watched her disappear around earlier. She’s in costume – tight jeans that enhance her shapely legs and a fitted cream t-shirt with a navy blue fitted blazer over the top. It’s a borderline men’s wear look and suddenly Matt’s breath is gone and his fingers are on fire.

Something about that last thought bothers him and he reluctantly tears his eyes away from Alex to find that his cup is overflowing, hot water pouring over the rim of the paper cup and on to his hands, where it streams down and douses a plate of finger sandwiches on the craft services table.

“Shit!” Matt curses, a bit too loudly apparently, because eyes fall on him and he grasps for paper napkins. He manages to clutch a wad of them in his hand and dabs at the table quite ineffectually.

He soaks the napkins in a matter of seconds and tosses the wad in the trashcan, looking around helplessly before he spots a roll of paper towels. Grabbing those, he tears a long strip off and dabs at the plate of sandwiches.

His face feels scarlet and he doesn’t dare look up to see who is actually watching him in this mess. He’s feeling like the most ridiculous and clumsy person on the planet when a low voice next to him startles him.

“It’s sweet of you to try, darling, but I don’t think you can actually save the sandwiches.”

Alex leans forward, her blazer-covered arm gently brushing against his bare forearm. She plucks the plate from the table, empties it into the bin, then eases the roll of paper towels from his hands and collects the rest of the spreading water. Effectively cleaning up his mess. Again.

As she leans back to look at him, he inhales and catches the faint scent of the earth and something bright and citrusy. She always smells amazing – and different, every time.

“There,” She says, smiling, “Glad to see everything is back to normal, then.”

Matt furrows his brow until he remembers the first table read for this season. He remembers how Alex had spilled coffee all over herself. He grins and dries his fingers on a napkin, tossing it into the bin. He flexes his fingers, glancing down at them – they’re a bit red, but nothing too bad. He’s certainly had worse in his lifetime.

Alex’s eyes follow his and she gasps when she sees his fingers; quite a brilliant red, actually.

She reaches out and takes his hands in hers, bringing his fingers up to her face and tilting them a bit more in to the light.

She clicks her tongue, “Oh, darling, are you alright?”

Matt closes his eyes for just a second, enjoying her soft hands in his. He tries not to react to her touch, but the contact sends his heart racing in his chest despite his best efforts.

He flexes his fingers again, “I’m fine, Kingston.”

His voice is quiet, and he’s suddenly painfully aware that this is the first time they’ve talked since the night before. Since he asked her what he asked her – he’s not an idiot, he knows she needs more time, he doesn’t expect an answer now, so he is happy for this small semblance of normalcy between them.

Alex glances up at him, watching his face carefully as though she’s trying to ascertain if he is telling the truth. He smiles, and she returns it, though she does not drop his hand. Matt tries not to take that as a sign, knows it’s too soon to for her to have made her decision, but he still feels the dangerous tendrils of hope begin to wrap themselves around his heart.

“It’s a good job Americans are rubbish at tea,” She smiles, then drops her gaze back to his fingers, “Sure you’re okay, darling?”

Matt smiles again at the little line of worry in her brow.

“I’m – ” He starts, but thinks better of it, “My fingers are fine, I promise,” He grins at her, waggling his eyebrows a bit, “Though I won’t object if you’d like to kiss them better… just in case.”

He hopes the words sound light and airy – a peace offering, of sorts – an invitation to further return to some semblance of their former relationship; an acknowledgement that if they can have nothing else, they can at least have _this_ , however confusing it is for his heart. No matter what she chooses, Matt always wants to know her. Even if it means loving her from afar and holding on to each flirty moment between them a little too hard.

Matt’s about to chuckle and follow his remark with some little joke when he sees Alex bite her lip, clearly considering her options. Suddenly, and quite without warning, she lifts his hands, still grasped loosely in her own, to her mouth and he watches, stunned, as her lips press a gentle kiss first to a few of his fingers and then the rest.

Matt’s mouth goes dry as he watches – her gaze is fixed on his eyes and he’s suddenly remembering pushing his fingers into her mouth as he slid into her, her warm body writhing underneath him.

She drops his hands from her soft lips but still does not let go as she looks at him – her eyes a turbulent mixture of everything he feels in his heart: hope, trepidation, sadness.

“There,” Alex whispers, her eyes boring into his, a hint of mischief now behind them. God, he’s missed that look, “All better, then?” She smiles at him.

Matt clears his throat and nods once, begging his voice to do him this one small favor and be steady when he finally opens his mouth to speak, “Quite.” He flexes his fingers once more in her grasp, “Your lips are magic, Kingston.”

Alex smirks at him and Matt instantly recognizes the look – knows something infinitely naughty is on the tip of her tongue. He grins in anticipation, feeling the adrenaline that always comes from flirting with Alex Kingston start to course through his veins.

But then the mischief disappears, and a weight settles in her eyes, “Matt, I…” She starts, but trails off, still holding on to his hands.

“I know,” He whispers – because he does know – she’s not ready yet, she hasn’t made a decision, and he squeezes her hands and tries not to read into the fact that she still hasn’t pulled her hands away from his, tries not to focus on how soft and small and warm her hands are.

“What’s this, then?”

Matt startles, turning to the left to see Deni, her eyes locked on Matt and Alex’s joined hands. Alex releases Matt’s hands at once and one of his now free hands makes its way through his hair.

He wants to tell her to go away – that it’s none of her business, but he can’t. And he feels like a bit of a bastard for even having that thought in the first place, though Deni has clearly not turned out to be at all the person she made him believe she was. Still, he hasn’t actually broken up with her properly yet since he hasn’t actually seen her until now.

Not wanting to tell the lie – ‘nothing’ – and not wanting to tell the truth – ‘the blooming of unspeakable hope that my love will be returned’ – Matt rubs anxiously at the back of his neck.

“What’s up?” He settles on trying to figure out what she wants, instead.

Deni looks between Matt and Alex, her brow creased in obvious anger. Alex busies herself with arranging the napkins on the table in a silly pattern, not looking up, and Matt very nearly laughs at the ridiculousness of it all.

“They’re ready for us, babe,” As she emphasizes the pet name, she inclines her head towards where the woman he’d spoken to earlier sits with a camera crew and techs fiddling with lighting.

Right. Press.

Matt nods, “Okay, can we… can we talk for a second?”

Deni sighs, “They need us right now, but I suppose we can for a moment.”

Matt leads her gently by the elbow into a corner. He feels a bit nervous, despite the fact that he knows this has been a long time coming, despite the fact that he knows it’s long past necessary. He looks at Deni’s narrowed blue eyes and he’s just about to break the news to her – to try to let her down as gently as possible when Daniel’s voice cuts through.

“Matt! Deni!”

Matt looks over Deni’s shoulder and sees Daniel waving them over. He sighs, nodding and waving back. This will have to wait.

Which, actually, might be a good thing – he hadn’t really thought his timing through. Too eager to simply finally do the right thing and end things with Deni, he hadn’t stopped to consider that breaking up with Deni Christmas right before a very public interview might not have been the best idea he’d ever have. Not given what he’d come to discover about Deni’s rather volatile personality in the last few weeks.

Nodding again, he and Deni make their way over to Daniel who leads them to a little corner of the set where stationary cameras and director’s chairs have been set up. They’re introduced to the cameraman and the same woman Daniel had introduced Matt to earlier – Julie, apparently.

Julie has light blonde hair and pale blue eyes that are currently fixed on him with amusement and perhaps a hint of mischief, which scares him a bit from the eyes of someone who will be interviewing him momentarily.

Matt and Deni are mic’d by the sound guy for whatever the hell show this interview is for – Matt still hasn’t managed to figure it out and truthfully he doesn’t really care. He’s got other things on his mind – like breaking up with his girlfriend, for instance. Or whether or not he has a future with Alex Kingston, for another.

He and Deni both settle into the director’s chairs under the bright lights and Matt squints a bit, resisting the urge to shield his eyes with his hand.

Maggie steps in and dabs a bit of makeup first on him, then on Deni, before she steps back and stands next to Jack and Alex. They’re sitting side-by-side in director’s chairs slightly off-camera and Matt feels suddenly nervous and a little angry, even though he knows the last emotion is rooted in his own insecurity. They must be up next to be interviewed, he reasons, but seeing them paired off like that, Jack leaning over and speaking quietly to Alex, makes Matt’s blood run cold. Particularly when he recounts how Jack looked earlier when he was talking about Alex.

Nevertheless, Matt settles back in his own chair, pressing his back firmly into the fabric and sitting up just a little bit straighter.

Julie sits back in her chair and watches Matt with a look of curiosity. Matt feels vaguely unsettled by her gaze, though he can’t figure out quite why. He gives her an uneasy smile before he reaches up and adjusts the collar of his shirt, tugging it away from his throat where it now suddenly feels rather constricting.

Eventually, the director of the segment calls for quiet and a hush falls over the set. Jack and Alex sit quietly next to each other, Daniel off to side in his own chair, watching.

Julie looks down at the index cards in her hand, crossing things out with a pen and making notes in their place. Matt does his level best to not feel unnerved by that, too, but the nerves coil in his stomach anyway.

When the director calls action, Julie pastes on a bright smile, her white teeth near blinding in the lights.

“Matt, Deni,” She greets, her American drawl from somewhere Southern if Matt guesses correctly, “Thanks for joining me.”

“Thanks for having us!” Deni says enthusiastically, bouncing a bit in her chair.

Matt turns to look at her, her focus on Julie, her face open and kind. There’s no hint of the conniving woman he now knows lurks just under the surface of her girl-next-door persona.

She really _is_ a great actress, he thinks. Had him fooled all this time.

Julie launches into a brief introduction and then asks a couple of questions about the show – she talks about how it’s a surprise hit, asks them why do they think that is, what do they think of knowing exactly how many seasons of a show will be produced before signing on?

They handle these with ease, he and Deni taking turns answering Julie’s softball questions. Julie watches with, Matt is quite sure, feigned interest, looking very rapt when they talk about filming blocks and time commitments – how filming at a breakneck speed leaves them with very little time for much else.

Julie uses that unfortunate comment to segue into their personal lives – asking questions about who pursued whom, where they went on their first date, and what it’s like to work with someone you’re dating.

Matt doesn’t have to wonder if Julie notices his change in demeanor during this line of questioning or the general change in the dynamic between he and Deni. Julie’s little smirk tells him full well she’s noticed how Deni suddenly does all the talking now, effusing non-stop about their relationship while he merely sits in his chair, shifting uncomfortably and wondering about the probability of a sinkhole appearing directly underneath him. Not very high in Los Angeles, he concludes, clearing his throat and offering a smile that he knows looks just as pained as it feels stretching across his face.

Julie nods enthusiastically as Deni finishes some story about their relationship that Matt doesn’t actually quite remember. Julie smiles, and then turns her gaze to Matt. He’s a bit startled to see something calculating in them; she’d seemed so nice at the beginning.

“You’re working with Alex Kingston again.” Julie observes, her tone suspiciously light.

It’s not a question, but Matt plays his part anyway, “Yes.” He smiles genuinely for the first time during the interview because even this deeply uncomfortable situation can’t dampen how glad he is to be working with Alex again.

Julie nods, “And how is that? Working with Alex Kingston again?” She clarifies, as though he could have forgotten the topic so quickly – as though he could _ever_ forget Alex Kingston as topic.

Matt glances over Julie’s shoulder at Alex – she’s sitting in her chair watching the interview with what appears to be guarded curiosity. She looks like she’s bracing herself for something, but Matt can’t figure out exactly what.

“Brilliant,” Matt effuses, “Working with Alex is always brilliant. She’s top-notch, really – just a brilliant, beautiful actress,” He smiles, “Did I mention brilliant?” He sits back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee, still grinning.

Julie nods again, smiling back at him, that odd look still in her eyes, “Is it strange?” At Matt’s clearly confused look, Julie continues, “Working with her in this capacity? Since she plays sort of a maternal figure to your character in the show?”

Matt narrows his eyes, trying to figure out exactly what Julie’s game is, wondering if _that’s_ what Alex had been bracing herself for, “A bit,” He admits, shifting in his seat and avoiding Alex’s gaze, and rather wishing he could avoid Julie’s.

Deni looks at Matt and then back at Julie, her eyes wide in the way that Matt now knows means she’s feigning innocence, “Why would it be weird?” Her tone is light, airy, “That’s the type of relationship they should have, isn’t it? I mean, given the age difference.”

Matt cuts her a look, but she’s focused on Julie, blinking as she waits for an answer.

Julie smiles patiently, “Well,” She shrugs, “That’s not the type of relationship they previously had on screen.” Julie grins, “The romantic chemistry between them was palpable – some of the best I’ve seen, honestly.”

Deni doesn’t say anything, just glares at Julie who simply smiles sweetly back at Deni, though Matt certainly doesn’t miss the mischief in her eyes. She seems to know what she’s playing at, and Matt has to give her a bit of credit for that – and for defending Alex and his on screen relationship from _Doctor Who_.

“That’s down to Alex, really.” Matt explains, “She’s very easy to work with. Hard _not_ to have chemistry with her, actually.”

Deni glares at _him_ now, but he just smiles at Julie.

“Big rumor – and it’s looking that way – is that your characters will be getting engaged at the end of this season.”

Matt shakes his head, very used to this tactic from his days on _Who_ , “Julie, you know we can’t comment on that.”

Julie winks and nods, “Right, of course. My question is, though, since you two are quite the couple now, do you expect real life to follow on-screen life anytime soon? Do you see yourselves getting engaged? Maybe starting a family?”

Matt sits, stunned – she hasn’t seriously just asked… they’ve been dating for two months! He’s going to break up with her, in fact, the moment he gets a chance! Surely Julie is not asking about marriage and _children_. It’s so beyond inappropriate that he doesn’t even know what to say – points to Julie, she has completely blindsided him with this one, and it shows because he clenches his jaw, staring straight ahead, not speaking for a long moment until the pressure gets to him.

Matt shifts in his seat, a blush settling on his features, “Uh…” He starts.

Deni reaches for his hand, “Never say never,” She looks at him brightly, “That’s what I always say. Right, babe?”

Matt has actually never heard her say that. He sits silently, feeling helpless. His eyes dart to Alex, but he can’t see her now, she’s shifted in her seat and the stage lights blind him to her, and he wonders what he’d read on her face if he could see her – wonder if he’s better off not knowing.

He clears his throat, “Right,” He agrees because he truthfully doesn’t know what else to say in this moment that isn’t _‘Bloody hell, no_.’

Deni beams at him and Julie looks momentarily stunned, ‘What the hell’d you expect, Julie?’ Matt wants to ask, but he just smiles tightly, the wrongness of everything that just transpired distorting his face.

Julie pastes on a bright smile and thanks them for their time before turning to face the camera, “After the break, we sit down with noted silver fox Jack Varley and the lovely Alex Kingston. Don’t go anywhere!”

The director of the segment calls cut and Matt immediately drops Deni’s hand and stands from his director’s chair, shifting out of the light a bit. His eyes fall on Alex, but he can’t read anything from her face – she’s had enough time by now to cover up any reaction she may have had initially.

Surely, Matt thinks, she knows – after last night she _knows_ that Matt doesn’t have a future with Deni. But, well, he hadn’t exactly _told_ Alex that – he hadn’t told her that no matter what she decides, things are over between he and Deni, it’s only a matter of telling Deni that.

And the bloody _future_ is part of what spooked Alex in the first place.

Matt mentally curses Julie and her stupid questions and himself, really, for continuing this charade of a relationship with Deni well beyond its expiration date. He knew it was over long ago – before it even started if he’s really honest about it – but he’d stayed in it for reasons that seemed good at the time, but were actually rubbish like a bloody idiot and now “journalists” are asking questions about marriage and children with _Deni_ on American National Television.

Matt swears, running a hand nervously through his hair as Deni is whisked away by a PA for another interview or scene pickup or _something_ , Matt doesn’t really know what.

He’s not even sure what comes next for him today. With a sigh, he looks for Daniel, his eyes glancing around behind the cameras trying to ignore the way Jack is looking at Alex as they chat animatedly with Julie during their pre-interview.

Matt finally sees Daniel, sitting off to the side of the camera – apparently, he’d been watching the interview. His elbows are propped on the arms of the chair and his index fingers are steepled as they rest against his mouth. He looks pensive – a bit moody, and Matt regards him curiously before stepping towards him. When he’s a little closer, he notices that Daniel looks pissed in the American sense, actually, and Matt wonders why he looks so angry.

Matt clears his throat and Daniel looks at him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

“You…uh, you okay mate?” Matt asks, shifting his weight from foot to foot and wondering why he feels so damn uncomfortable.

He and Daniel haven’t talked much, but they’ve otherwise got on well. They have a mutual professional respect for one another, and it’s not been a problem. After a moment of quiet reflection, Matt decides his discomfort must simply be because Daniel’s expression is so thunderous.

“Fine,” Daniel nods once, “Predictable, but fine,” He drops his hands and looks at Matt, “One more solo promo piece for you right after Alex and Jack are done,” Daniel explains, as though he knew exactly why Matt had approached. Daniel indicates the chair next to him with a slight incline of his head.

Matt’s heart sinks – he doesn’t want to watch Jack and Alex’s interview; he doesn’t want to see them together because he’s not actually sure his heart can take it.

But, one does not say ‘no’ to Daniel DeLuca. So, Matt sits reluctantly in the chair as he watches Alex and Jack settle into their respective chairs.

Alex looks resplendent in the lights; they bounce off her hair and her skin _glows_ as she shifts in her chair, adjusts the sleeves of her blazer up, and smiles genuinely at Julie, her face lighting up and it’s then that Matt knows the truth. He knows it isn’t just something he’s told himself in the years that have passed between them.

His heart will take _anything_ to see her smile, bright and wide; any kind of pain, any kind of sadness he will bear it all just to see her happy, even if it’s with someone else.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry,” She whispers quietly.
> 
> He is quiet, and she wonders if maybe he didn’t hear her over the din of the set come back to life but finally, he shrugs, “It’s okay,” He murmurs his reply, still not quite meeting her gaze.
> 
> “It’s really not,” When Matt shrugs again, Alex sighs, “If it helps, I was thinking about you when I said it.” At that, he looks up at her sharply, “I’m always thinking of you, darling."
> 
> Matt clears his throat, finally looking at her with wide, searching eyes that belie his hurt – from today, from years ago, “I think,” He starts, voice steady and quiet, “It helps and hurts in equal measure, Alex.”

Alex looks directly at Julie, her eyes trained on the young woman about to interview her. Alex can’t look anywhere else right now – if she looks at Matt, there’s a very real chance that she’ll fall apart.

And she can’t fall apart right now. Not again.

Julie smiles and Alex feels herself smile back and all she can do is hope that it looks genuine enough; she can only hope it doesn’t look grotesque, though that is certainly how it feels as it stretches across her face. It feels like a mask – the same one she’s worn for years, now.

Julie’s questions to Matt were like pointed daggers in Alex’s stomach, sharp and cutting, well aimed for someone throwing quite blindly. So much like daggers were they that Alex had to stop herself from glancing down to find the wounds inflicted by the words: Marriage, _family_.

_Family_. The thing she could never give him – the thing she can’t give anyone again. It’s just her now, that’s all she has to offer, not the prospect of something more – and she alone hasn’t been enough for anyone to keep their promises, not ever.

She doesn’t have her mantra anymore – she can’t convincingly lie to herself now, she can’t tell herself that Matt is happy with Deni – he isn’t, he confirmed as much last night. So she can’t hide behind what she’s told herself since she stepped foot in Los Angeles.

But there is still the small matter of the truth.

And the truth is what sent her running from him all those years ago. The truth is what kept her from reaching out to him as they passed. The truth is what kept her awake for nights on end, reciting the reasons she couldn’t call him like a sad and lonely prayer to a god she’d never even believed in.

The truth is that for Matt Smith a relationship with Alex Kingston would be career suicide.

And even if that truth is only a tenuous one, prone to the whims of the mood of the press and public at the time, there is one truth so deep and so raw that it will never change: a life with _her_ means going without.

It means no children that bear his name, no child to call him daddy, no baby to rock to sleep at night as he hums those ridiculous rock songs he’s so fond of.

It’s painful, but it _is_ the truth – and she’s left with the questions she asked herself for four years when her fingers would itch to call him: _who is she if she takes that from him? Even if he would give it to her willingly?_

Those questions ate her alive, kept her up at night, made her heart thunder in her chest until she couldn’t hear anything but her own heartbeat, the sound of her own regret, the sound of her own _choice_ , however right it was for the man she loves.

The questions, though, faded with time, became less a blaring foghorn and more of a dull ache she would forget to remember sometimes, like her love for him – always there, still, underneath everything, but easier to ignore, easier to pretend it’s a part of the past, not a very real condition of her present.

Her promises to herself faded too, and in the face of last night, she felt on the precipice of letting it all go for him. For herself.

But Julie’s questions – the picture of Matt next to someone who can give him what Alex cannot snapped Alex right back into reality, cut the wound in her heart right open, planted her feet firmly back on the ground, precipice be damned.

She _loves_ him. She didn’t need a night to answer. She didn’t need a second, because his name – and only his name – has been written on her heart for a long time now; long before she even knew it was there, she thinks. But loving him is selfish – and she has been many things in her life, but selfish has never been one of them; she’s not sure she can do it.

Alex is not sure she can tell him the truth about her feelings, the truthful answer to the question he asked; to tell him would be to ignore all the voices screaming at her from the recesses of her mind, reminding her what a life with her means for him.

With a slight shake of her head, like it can cure the darkness that lives there, Alex settles her attention back on Julie, watches as the woman’s blue eyes – kind, but still sharp and scrutinizing – sweep slowly between she and Jack as a slow smile spreads across her face. Alex suddenly feels nervous – wondering what Julie’s grin means, exactly.

The director of the segment – Marvin or Melvin or something, Alex isn’t quite sure since she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in her ears – calls for quiet and Alex wonders if everyone can hear the pounding of her heart in the now-quiet studio.

Julie’s first few questions are softballs – thrown slowly and meant to acclimate both Jack and Alex to her style of interviewing. They were easy. They were meant, Alex knows, to lull them into a false sense of security. That glint in Julie’s eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed, after all.

Nevertheless, it starts to work a bit – Alex feels herself relaxing her grip on the arm of the director’s chair, feels her heart stop racing quite so fast. Even her head, which should bloody well know better starts thinking ‘Ah, this isn’t so bad.’

She’s too trusting in all the wrong ways, sometimes.

Jack, for his part, is his usual charming self. He laughs at Julie’s silly jokes, the sound bright and rumbling and quite sexy, actually.

Alex, too, charms – she knows she’s capable, and even when she’s nervous, this somehow seems to happen.

Julie smiles, looking between both she and Jack, “They gave me a screener of the first episode, and I have to say – the chemistry between you two is fantastic.”

Alex and Jack both laugh lightly, “Thank you,” Jack says before inclining his head towards Alex, “It’s been said before, obviously, by anyone who’s ever worked with her, but it’s the truth – this one could have chemistry with a bloody rock.”

Alex flushes, “Oh, stop it!” She laughs, scarcely resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands and hide her face.

Jack just grins, “It’s true.”

Matt had always said some variation of that about her with a certain fondness. She thinks of him now, of the way he’d always said that of her at conventions, even when she wasn’t there – how her flirting was legendary, how she could flirt with inanimate objects, with even her own self in the mirror. Alex rolls her eyes and gives a small exasperated shake of her head, “It takes two, darling,” The second the endearment rolls from her lips, she pales.

She’d not meant to call Jack that – she’d been thinking of Matt, of course, and the nickname she always used for him just slipped out. She wants to slap her hand over her mouth now, but the cameras are rolling and Julie is watching her carefully with sharp eyes, so Alex just shrugs, all the while feeling a bit sick to her stomach.

She doesn’t want to look at Matt, not now, but she can’t help it. She’s consumed with the urge to _know_ , to see the damage she wrought – she glances behind the camera and shifts her body slightly so she can see him.

He is sitting still, frozen in place, and he looks stricken. He looks as though she’d slapped him and she pleads with him with her eyes – begging him to understand – but his gaze drops to his hands folded neatly in his lap and Alex looks back to Julie, feeling sullen and hopeless.

“The fans will certainly have something to watch between the two of you,” Julie says, smiling brightly, “And what about off screen?”

Alex tenses, sitting up a bit straighter in her seat, false sense of security completely gone now. She’d never been one to talk about her personal life, not in any real way, and certainly not on camera. She prefers to keep her life private. People know that – Julie certainly does.

“Off screen?” Jack asks, though Julie’s meaning is perfectly clear.

Julie smiles again, and Alex is amazed that she somehow still manages to look sweet despite her clearly nefarious intentions. Maybe _nefarious_ is a bit strong, Alex admits, but she’s certainly aiming to pry.

Julie turns to Alex, “You’ve famously sworn off dating actors, yet a few years ago there were rumors swirling around you and Matt Smith,” Julie offers a small smile, but it does nothing to set Alex’s blood at ease as it rushes through her body on high alert now, “And now there are… whisperings, if you will, about you and Jack.”

Alex swallows, determined not to let how caught off guard she is show. She lets a slow smile spread across her face, refusing to turn to look at Matt again, knowing instinctively that she can’t handle it, not after this ‘question.’ And it would give too much away, the softness in her eyes.

“Was there a question?” Alex adopts a sweet calmness in her tone that she certainly doesn’t feel.

Julie laughs, the sound bright and loud, “Any truth to these rumors?” She asks, a smirk spreading across her young face like she knows a bloody secret, “Then or now?” She clarifies.

Alex eyes her, trying desperately to steady her breathing, trying to school her features. She sighs through a smile, “Rumors have _always_ loved me more than I’ve loved them,” She answers cryptically, surprising even herself, “A bit opposite to the men in my life that way, I suppose,” She cracks a self-deprecating joke, one that is truer than anyone knows actually.

She hopes it is enough be cause she can’t bring herself to outright lie about she and Matt – not when he’d bared his heart to her last night, not when he would have done the same four years ago if she’d let him.

Jack interrupts, deftly changing the subject, much to Julie’s obvious chagrin and Alex’s quiet relief.

The rest of the interview passes quickly, the topic switching back to the actual show and their characters. Safer territory – territory that doesn’t hurt her, and she’s grateful for it. When the director calls cut, Alex fixes a glare on Julie who simply shrugs and then smiles apologetically, the calculating look now gone from her eyes.

Alex sighs, and then smiles back, shaking her head in exasperation as she stands from her chair and heads behind the camera just as Jack is called into wardrobe for another scene he’s filming later.

She sees Matt and Daniel sitting in their respective chairs, both of them brooding; Matt, she understands, but Daniel’s demeanor is entirely a mystery to her.

Daniel stands quietly, moving a few feet away to talk in hushed tones with his first AD, his face clouded with what appears to be some type of anger, and Alex moves closer to Matt until she is standing mere inches from him.

She fixes her eyes on his face, and her heart turns over on itself when she sees that he is steadily not meeting her gaze, his fringe falling adorably over his eyes. She reaches out to brush his hair from his face but stops her hand short, flexing her fingers. After a moment in which she thinks ‘sod it,’ she reaches the rest of the way out and pushes his hair from his forehead.

He doesn’t pull away and even leans a bit into her touch. She smooths the hair back, stroking softly three times before she reluctantly drops her hand back to her side.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers quietly.

He is quiet, and she wonders if maybe he didn’t hear her over the din of the set come back to life but finally, he shrugs, “It’s okay,” He murmurs his reply, still not quite meeting her gaze.

“It’s really not,” She shakes her head and she suddenly doesn’t know whether she’s talking about what just happened or everything else. When Matt shrugs again, Alex sighs, “If it helps, I was thinking about you when I said it.” At that, he looks up at her sharply, “I’m always thinking of you, darling,” she flushes, her voice a soft whisper, the endearment – _his_ endearment – sweet on her tongue.

Matt clears his throat, finally looking at her with wide, searching eyes that belie his hurt – from today, from years ago, “I think,” He starts, voice steady and quiet, “It helps and hurts in equal measure, Alex.”

She nods her understanding, searching for something to say, something to make it better, “I _am_ sorry, darling,” Alex says, her eyes searching his face now.

Matt smiles at her, his eyes now normal, his grin every bit as boyish and sweet as she remembers it, “It’s okay, Kingston,” he whispers before he stands and presses a soft kiss to her hairline, “Promise,” He sighs, his lips moving against her skin before he pulls back.

Alex flushes, the red creeping up her neck to crawl across her face. She’s been so long without tenderness and forgiveness that it astounds her now, especially coming from the one person from whom she has wanted it most for years now.

How many apologies she owes him, and yet his capacity for forgiveness astounds her – makes her want to weep in the face of it. Makes her know that what he told her last night is the truth, every aching bit of it.

Matt squeezes her arm gently and then walks over to the solo interview chair, settling into it. He really does look so much older – he’s grown into his looks with remarkable and unparalleled grace. He’s beautiful. He always was to her, of course, but now – oh, now it can’t be denied. Catching her staring, he grins and winks.

A slow smile spreads across her face and she looks away – what is she supposed to do? How can she possibly make this decision? It’s everything she wants – _he_ is everything she wants but she knows she loves him enough to let him go.

And maybe that isn’t fair to him – maybe it has never been fair to him, but he is young and beautiful and has so much _life_ ahead of him.

Alex loves him enough to give him the opportunity to have things that he would never have with her, things he may not even realizes he wants now but things he will miss in the future, maybe without even realizing it then.

If he is with her, he may live the rest of his life with the vague sense that something is _missing_ , and he might not even know what it is until it’s too late. She’s not sure she can do that to him. She’s not sure she is enough to make him forget the piece of himself he will never give to his own child if he is with her.

She loves him. Enough. More than she loves herself, and it’s powerful and sad and _necessary_.

Daniel sidles up next to her unnoticed, “Christmas!” He shouts, nearly directly in Alex’s ear and she jumps, a hand coming up to cover her heart before she glares at Daniel. He just grins at her, that moody edge she’d seen before suddenly gone.

“Christmas!” He yells again, turning and looking across the soundstage. Alex follows his gaze and sees Deni change her direction and make her way over to Daniel.

When she arrives, she smiles, “What’s up?”

Daniel smiles back, “Lunch with Ms. Kingston,” He answers, matter-of-factly, “My sources tell me you two haven’t had your lunch yet and seeing as filming ends next week…” He trails off, eyebrows raised.

Deni smiles brightly and Alex nearly rolls her eyes at the sight, at the falseness of it.

“Right,” Deni hedges, “We’ll do it –”

“Today,” Daniel cuts her off, “You’ll do it today. _Now_ , in fact,” he instructs, and Alex grins a bit at the way Deni’s smile falters.

“Right.” Deni swallows, then turns to look at Alex, “I’ll meet you at the picnic tables in like ten minutes.” She doesn’t wait for Alex to reply. Instead, she stalks off in a huff, her long blonde hair floating behind her.

Daniel turns to Alex, grinning, “Charming, isn’t she?”

Alex snorts – as much as she does not want to spend any time whatsoever with Deni, she has come to rather like Daniel, “Quite,” Alex replies, rolling her eyes.

Daniel just smiles enigmatically at her before pulling his cellphone out and dialing it, stepping away from her in the process.

With a sigh, and with a final look at Matt where he sits talking animatedly to another interviewer, Alex makes her way through the soundstage and out through the back door, meandering to the picnic tables where she sits down, straddling the bench of a table as she casts her eyes out over the lot.

The weather is nice today, quietly ambling towards fall the way Los Angeles is apt to. People rush hurriedly about to sets, meetings, class, home. There is a constant bustle in Los Angeles, even on lots, and when she’d finally left it after years of feeling an acute sense of loss, she’d thought it had been for good.

She certainly never anticipated _missing_ it – but she realizes now, she _had_ missed it. It comforts her now in a way she’d never thought it would. Wonders never cease.

Smiling, she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, letting the warm sun fall on her face.

Alex has been avoiding this lunch, and for good reason. Things have been contentious between she and Deni since the moment they met – and she doesn’t expect things will get any easier. In fact, she feels like they may get worse with this lunch. The two of them haven’t spent any real time together since Alex arrived, and there is a very real possibility that this lunch will be a disaster, that it will expose wounds – raw or otherwise – and Alex is very much not looking forward to it, and the dread that has suddenly taken up residence in her body agrees.

She finds herself hoping that Deni won’t show despite Daniel’s insistence and clear instruction. But Alex knows better than that, what with the PA standing a safe distance from the picnic table, clearly sent by Daniel to report back.

Carte blanche was nearly an understatement as far as Daniel and the network were concerned, and whatever else Deni may be, she’s certainly not dumb. She’ll show. Much to Alex’s eternal chagrin.

Alex has had catty costars before – hell, she was in a theater company with her first husband’s mistress, for crying out loud – but she’s paid her dues in that department, she back-owes nothing as far as she’s concerned. She’s not competing for roles now, she’s practically offer-only these days, and she’s _tired_ , truth be told.

Deni is the type to want a war, and Alex just… doesn’t even want to go to battle anymore.

As if on cue, Alex hears the angry crunch of the gravel that surrounds the picnic tables and she focuses on the sun, a halfhearted salutation for strength before she finally opens her eyes, lowers her head, and sees Deni huffing. Her heels catch in the gravel and she nearly trips; Alex just manages to bite back a smile as Deni, after righting herself from her near stumble, slides into the bench across from her.

Deni tosses her salad and La Croix on the table and rolls her eyes. She doesn’t look at Alex, simply takes the noisy plastic lid off her salad and takes the cup of dressing out, setting it off to the side with the lid.

“Well,” Deni says, unwrapping her fork, “I’m here.”

Alex resists the urge to roll her eyes, “So I can see.”

Deni glances up at that, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Alex smiles politely, “I’m not hungry.”

Deni’s eyes flick down, surveying what parts of Alex are visible, “Hmmm,” She jams her fork into her salad.

Alex is quite sure there’s some type of judgment there, but she can’t figure out what it is – and, truthfully, she doesn’t really care. She spent years in the shadows of other women; it took her decades to break out of that, and she’s not about to let an amateur like Deni Christmas cast her back in that role any time soon.

Deni crunches her lettuce, staring at Alex for a long moment, “I just don’t want to have to repeat this _lunch_ on a technicality.”

Alex laughs at that, because she’d rather not repeat this particular experience either, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Deni narrows her eyes, glances at the PA observing them, and then gathers another forkful of dry lettuce with a shrug, “It better be,” she mutters before she takes another bite, crunching loudly in a way that makes Alex clench her teeth.

The ‘lunch’ passes quietly at a tortuously slow place, neither of them talking to one another. Alex busies herself tracing the pattern of the warped wood of the picnic bench or examining her nail beds before she catches the PA looking suspiciously over at their table.

The fear of having to repeat this god-awful experience instilled in her by the discerning eyes of the young PA, Alex asks Deni a series of banal questions which the girl answers around mouthfuls of lettuce whilst making no attempt at reciprocation.

This is fine with Alex, actually, because even more than she doesn’t want to know about Deni and her life, Alex doesn’t want Deni to know a single thing about her own life – well, more than she already does, anyway. You don’t spend decades in this business without the world and anyone with a computer knowing too much. But, still. She’d rather not give Deni any more.

By the time Deni finishes half of her salad and pushes it to the side, Alex has learned where the girl grew up, that she’s an only child, and the name of her one and only childhood pet – a cat called Nigel.

Alex is just about to suggest they wrap up this sham of a bonding lunch when Deni looks at Alex, fixing her with a rather cool gaze. A warped smile spreads across her face and Alex, knowing that look from decades of shallow costars, internally braces herself for impact.

“I think you’re disgusting,” Deni snarls, folding her hands primly on the table in front of her.

Alex can’t help it – she laughs. It’s a full-bodied, full-throated laugh that shakes her shoulders and her curls. Because of all the petty, vindictive things she’d anticipated coming out of Deni’s young mouth, she certainly hadn’t expected _that_.

Deni just glares at Alex for a moment as she laughs, head thrown back, curls still shaking, “I’m glad you think this is so funny.” Her tone conveys how offended she feels that Alex isn’t immediately taking her insult seriously.

When Alex doesn’t say anything, simply laughs a bit more in response, Deni narrows her eyes, “You think I don’t know that something happened between you and Matt?” Her voice is sharp, cutting.

The question sobers Alex instantly, and she clears her throat, staring at Deni – she doesn’t open her mouth to confirm or deny what Deni just said; she knows it’s pointless, anyway. She simply regards Deni with a guarded stare, her lips pursed together.

Deni grins, but it’s mean, “You think I don’t know that something happened between you and someone _young enough to be your son_?” Deni asks, her voice falsely sweet, “How disgusting,” she shakes her head, “How desperate on your part, honestly.” When Alex still doesn’t react, too busy trying to wrap her head around what is actually happening now, Deni tilts her head and tries a different tactic, “He never even talked about you, you know. Pretended you didn’t even exist until you showed up here.”

Deni means the words as an insult, but they make Alex glad, instead. It would have hurt her to know that Matt discussed her – their relationship, whatever it had been – with Deni. The fact that he hadn’t, that he’d kept it quiet, kept it some kind of sacred, comforts her.

“And now he has some sort of _nostalgia_ about you or something,” Deni shrugs, “Remembers you as better than you were, I’m sure.” She smirks, “But not to worry,” she begins packing up the remnants of her lunch, “He’ll come to his senses soon enough – see exactly what he has in front of him,” Deni pops the lid back on her salad and runs her tongue over her teeth, “A future. With me.”

Those words _do_ cut Alex and right to the quick, because they are her fears. And Matt won’t have a future with _Deni_ , regardless, Alex knows that, but the fact remains that he could have it with _someone_.

Deni stands, gathering up her food and un-touched La Croix, “So stop trying to steal my boyfriend.”

Alex nearly laughs again at that, because she’s spent years trying to do the exact opposite – she’s been trying to _let Matt go_. But she’s suddenly overcome with a sense of empathy for Deni, misplaced though it may be, because Alex remembers feeling like that.

She remembers standing next to a man and wondering which woman will be the one to make him stray – and try as she might to act differently, it’s clear that Deni is threatened. And with good reason, if last night is anything to go by. But, still, that had never been Alex’s intention.

Alex turns soft, open eyes to Deni, and speaks for the first time since Deni began her tirade, “Honey, lovers can’t be stolen.” Alex speaks softly, her voice infused with a kindness she’s not sure Deni actually deserves, but maybe she isn’t speaking to Deni, not really. Maybe she’s speaking to her younger self – healing the part of her that’s still broken all these years later from trusting the wrong man, “They can only go willingly, and let me tell you, any lover who does isn’t worth your time.”

Deni smirks condescendingly at Alex before she steps over the bench and regards her with a glare, “Thanks for the advice, _mum_ , but stay away from my boyfriend all the same.” She walks away, the gravel crunching again under her too-high heels, and Alex breathes a sigh of relief.

She slides along the bench until her back is up against the wall next to the picnic table. She presses her back against it and stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. She leans her head back against the wall enjoying the way the stucco scrapes her scalp as she closes her eyes and basks in the sun again; a bit higher in the sky now, it warms her face, and she smiles despite the train wreck of a ‘lunch’ she just had.

Alex was right to dread that lunch – it had somehow been both not as bad and even worse than she’d anticipated, full of awkward silences and words that would have cut her so deeply two decades ago. But now, she recognizes them for what they are – words meant to cause pain with little truth behind them.

She’d survived worse than Deni Christmas, honestly, but the conversation still rankles, still plays on the one fear she does have and she doesn’t know quite how to let it go. She doesn’t know how to stop Deni’s voice from joining the chorus of others in her head that repeat the word ‘ _future_ ’ on a loop and remind Alex Kingston of everything she cannot possibly give to Matt Smith.

She’s halfway down the glaringly familiar road to self-pity when she hears a sharp laugh coming from the other side of the table and she hears the old wood creak under the weight of someone sitting down on the bench across from her.

Alex smiles, but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Bet that was a real treat,” the voice says, an amused quality in the tone.

“Oh, yes,” Alex grins, “Thinking of making it a regular occurrence. Maybe even daily, it was that enjoyable.”

Alex hears a snort in response and the clicking of a lighter. She opens her eyes and turns her head to the side, looking across the picnic table.

“Maggie!” Alex gasps, “You smoke?”

Maggie shrugs, her lips poised around the cigarette as she cups her hands around the lighter, shielding the flame from the small breeze crawling by, “It’s my one vice,” she explains around the cigarette, flipping the lighter closed as she inhales. She furrows her brow, “I said that wrong. It’s one of my vices… of which there are many.” She grins as she takes a long drag.

Alex laughs, “And what are the others, then?”

Maggie chuckles, flicking ash off the end of her cigarette into an ashtray in the center of the table, “Oh, the usual,” she replies flippantly, “Alcohol, gambling…” she turns her head away and blows out a puff of smoke, “This bother you, hon?”

Alex shakes her head, the stucco of the wall scratching her scalp again, getting caught a bit in her curls. Alex reaches up behind her and smooths her hair down, “No.”

Maggie smiles, then grins at Alex, “Men,” she taps the ash of her cigarette off again, “One of my biggest vices.”

“I’d heard that about you, actually,” Alex barks out a laugh at Maggie’s exaggerated expression, “Also heard I could learn a few _moves_ from you, too.” Alex adopts a scandalized tone, “A _pole_ , Maggie? Really? In your bedroom?”

Maggie brings the cigarette to her lips again, “I saw it on Oprah a few years back, and anyway – who told you that?” She inhales the smoke and exhales slowly, “It was that twat Millie in Wardrobe, wasn’t it? She just never stops running her mouth, I swear it.”

“Maggie!” Alex tries to sound stern, but fails miserably as the word comes out on a laugh instead.

“ _Twat_ ,” Maggie snorts, “I’ve been hanging around you Brits too long,” She smiles at Alex around her cigarette, “Good word, though.” She laughs, “Could describe someone _else_ around here.”

Alex nods, her eyes still laughing, but she refuses to touch _that_ one.

Silence descends for a moment before Maggie stubs her cigarette out in the ashtray. She then mirrors Alex’s position, leaning her head back against the stucco wall as she turns to look at Alex across the table.

“Heard you had a fun time last night,” At Alex’s stunned expression, Maggie laughs, “A bit of a showdown this morning in hair and makeup between your boys.”

Alex rolls her eyes, “They’re not my _boys_.”

Maggie snorts again, loudly, “Try telling _them_ that, darlin’.”

Maggie inclines her head towards Jack, where he stands chatting with a member of the crew, clearly looking at Alex out of the corner of his eye.

Alex turns to watch him, a small smile ghosting across her face. She knows it’s tinged with sadness, can feel it pulling awkwardly at her lips. Looking at him almost hurts and she turns her head away and closes her eyes for a moment before she opens them again and finds Maggie watching her now, a knowing look in the older woman’s eyes.

“What?” Alex asks quietly, not at all certain she wants to hear whatever it is Maggie is about to say. She doesn’t pull any punches.

“You can’t tell your heart what it wants, Alex,” she speaks evenly, “It’ll tell you.” She smiles, “Know what else you can’t do?” Maggie frowns at her, “Make decisions for other people.” She continues, matter-of-factly, “Never works,” she shakes her head, “If it did, my forty year old son wouldn’t be sleeping on my couch eating all my food, let me tell you.”

Alex chuckles at Maggie’s joke, at her attempt to lighten a very serious topic – she doesn’t ask how Maggie knows; maybe she doesn’t, maybe she’s just guessing. Alex sighs, the sadness clinging to her, “You can try.”

“You can,” Maggie agrees, nodding, “You can try, hon. But it _never works_.” She stands just as Jack begins walking in their direction, “You and I both know that.” She smiles once and then walks away, giving a small wave to Jack as she passes him.

Alex doesn’t even have time to reflect on Maggie’s words, even though she already knows the truth in them, because Jack approaches her cautiously, a small smile on his face.

“Heard you got roped into lunch with Deni.” His deep voice is low and rumbly.

Alex laughs, swinging her legs down and sitting on the bench properly, “Bad news travels fast.” She grins at Jack, “True, I’m afraid.”

Jack winces a bit, settling down on the bench across from Alex, its third occupant in the hour; she’s quite popular today.

“How was it?”

Alex shrugs, “It’s certainly not for the faint of heart.”

Jack laughs, running a hand through his thick hair, “I don’t imagine _that_ being a problem for you.”

Alex smiles a bit sadly, “You’d be surprised.”

Jack regards her curiously, and Alex gets the feeling that he somehow already knows this about her; knows she can be sensitive as hell, sometimes about the wrong things, sometimes about the right ones.

“I had a lovely time last night, Jack,” Alex says softly, a bit without preamble.

Jack smiles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as his eyes soften – she knows that look, saw it twice last night from two different men and it scares her more than a bit, if she’s honest, “I did, too,” He replies quietly, and then runs his hand along the stubble of his jaw, “And… after?” His eyebrows shoot up as though he’s surprised by his own question.

Alex’s eyes widen a bit and she draws her lip between her teeth in thought. Before she can formulate an answer, though, Jack speaks again, pressing his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry, Alex, I have no right to ask you that,” He opens his eyes and she’s shocked by the sincerity she sees in his blue eyes, “You don’t owe me an answer to that – you don’t owe me an explanation.”

Alex cocks her head to the side, considering him, “Don’t I?”

He shakes his head, “You really don’t. But… I _would_ like to see you again,” he smiles softly, “If you decide you’re available.” He holds up his hands in front of him, “Don’t answer now,” He grins, “I seem to do better when I’ve a bit of time on my side.”

Alex chuckles, “You did quite well last night, actually,” she flirts, letting a bit of seduction creep into her tone.

“Did I?” He queries around a smile. At her nod, he laughs, “Well, if that’s true, then much like with the chemistry – you make it easy.” Jack considers her, resting his chin on his fist, supported by his elbow on the table, “ _Not_ falling for you is the difficult maneuver, actually. And I’m afraid I’ve missed the exit for that one already.”

He’s just confirmed what Alex already read in his eyes, but the words make it more real and she doesn’t know what to say, what to do with this moment between them, and only Maggie’s words ring in her ears right now, “Jack…” She sighs, “I just need… a little more time, can you understand that?”

Jack smiles warmly at her, “Of course I can. I’ve… never met anyone like you before, and I’m quite sure I won’t again,” he shrugs, “And so… I’m here, Alex, that’s… all I’m saying.” He clears his throat, “That’s all I want you to know.”

Alex nods, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at the purity of the sentiment – she can see he means it, can see he won’t pressure her, that he’s letting her decide, and she feels so grateful for it.

She’s spent her life with men telling her what to do, how to feel, and now she has two men who are letting her decide – who care about her enough to say _I’m here_ and mean it. It’s almost too lovely to bear. _Almost_.

“Big scene today,” Jack changes the subject, and Alex smiles, grateful for that, too.

“Yes, it is,” Alex nods.

“The kids are getting engaged,” At her wide-eyed look, Jack winces, quickly realizing his mistake, “Shit, Alex, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Alex smiles at him, shaking her head, “I know you didn’t.” She admits quietly, though it still hurts a bit – he’d not meant anything by it, not meant to highlight the age difference between she and Matt, but like everything else between them it was there, humming under the surface, a twenty year age gap that made everything that much more difficult.

“Christ, I feel like a right –”

“It’s okay,” Alex whispers, reaching across the table and laying a comforting hand on his forearm, “Really.”

Jack glances down at her hand where it connects with his skin, and he opens his mouth to say something when he’s interrupted by the same nervous PA from their first night in the house. He rushes up to their table, clutching a manila folder to his chest. He doesn’t say anything, instead opening the folder and pulling out two identical copies of pink sheets and handing one to Alex and one to Jack.

They both raise their eyebrows in question as they take the pages from him.

“Uh, pink pages,” he says, clearly stating the obvious before he snaps the manila folder shut and turns on his heel, walking away from them as his eyes scan methodically for other cast members.

Alex and Jack exchange a quick glance before they each set about to reading the brand new revisions to the shooting script for today and tomorrow. As Alex reads, her eyebrows climb higher and higher and when she finally flips over the last page, her heart lodges in her throat and her blood goes hot and cold at the same time.

Jack finishes reading at nearly the exact same time she does and they both sit together in stunned silence for a moment.

“Or… not,” Jack says, amending his earlier scene description. He flips the revised script back to the beginning, then turns to look at Alex, his brow arched.

Alex huffs out a breath, shaking her head in disbelief. She knew Daniel was unorthodox, clearly, but she didn’t realize he was quite _this_ unorthodox, “Oh my god,” she breathes out, shaking her head again.

Alex’s blood rushes through her veins, her heart slamming in her chest, the nerves coiling themselves tightly in her stomach, excitement and dread warring within her.

Jack chuckles, nodding his head, clearly just as in awe of Daniel as Alex is, “That _is_ your line,” he smiles, tapping the pink pages with his index finger, “And whilst astride Matt Smith, apparently.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex’s eyes are wide as she stares at him, “I wasn’t trying to… I just meant to…”
> 
> Matt shakes his head sadly, “I’m not sure why you’re so intent on believing that no one would choose you, Alex,” He smiles at her, “When there’s actually a queue to do just that.”

Matt hears the whispers and rumblings towards the end of his final interview, which makes it rather difficult to concentrate, since it’s clear that something is going on. He sees a few worried, scandalized looks as well as some excited ones as he slips off the director’s chair and politely thanks his interviewer for his time.

Normally, he stays around to chat amiably for a bit, but curiosity is coursing through him so he can’t be bothered.

Just as he steps off the makeshift interview set, a PA comes up and hands him some pink pages – Matt recognizes the PA, but the young nervous man still doesn’t look him in the eye before her scurries away, a manila folder clutched under his arm. Matt stands confused for a moment before he drops his head and begins to read the new changes to the pages they’re supposed to shoot at the end of the day and all day tomorrow.

The farther into the adjusted script pages he reads, the higher his eyebrows climb until he’s sure that he must look utterly ridiculous to any passersby. He thinks he can feel eyes on him, watching him read, but he’ll never know for certain because he cannot tear his eyes away from the pages he’s holding in his hands. He’s riveted.

The rewrite is unexpected – taking the place of what they’re set to film today, it couldn’t be anything but – and the engagement so widely speculated about between his and Deni’s characters is gone now, cut completely, and as Matt reads his stomach turns over on itself in unmistakable excitement.

It’s brilliant – it’s a beautiful, meaningful, scandalous turn that no one will expect and which will be brilliant to play.

He’d loved this character for his depths already, but _this_ … it’s an entirely new side to a character he’s been playing for a year and quite unlike every other character he has played to date.

As Matt folds the pink pages back over, his mouth is dry and the nerves have burrowed themselves into his ridiculous stomach because this genius twist assuredly from Daniel’s mind has Matt with Alex in the end.

Just like Matt has always wanted.

He tucks the sentimental notion away and smiles, rolling up the pink pages in his hand as he tries to decide what to do first. Tomorrow was originally supposed to be a dark day for him; he was going to spend it catching up on errands and trying not to think about Alex every waking moment.

Now, it seems, he’ll be filming a love scene with her. His stomach drops because as excited as he is to play this kind of character development, and as thrilled as he is to act with her in any capacity, the very last thing he wants is for Alex to feel uncomfortable with this in any way.

She’d filmed many a sex scene in her day, and he was embarrassingly well-versed in all of them. In fact, she’d filmed a sex scene with Jack just a couple of weeks ago, but Matt had seen how nervous that had made her.

Things between Matt and Alex have been strange to say the least, and whereas before he would have said a little sex scene didn’t matter – that they could handle it professionally and without personal feelings – he’s not so sure now. His personal feelings for her have been popping up at ever turn, and he’s not so confident he can ignore them.

With a sigh, Matt runs his hand through his hair and his eyes scan the set, looking for Alex. Not seeing her, he moves around the set, blindly searching, ignoring gazes of the select crew who have been let in on the changes. When he gets to the door leading out to the picnic tables, he sees Alex on the bench of a table, pink pages in hand, Jack sitting across from her with smiling eyes.

The sight sends a bolt of panic through Matt, but he resolutely ignores it. This isn’t about his emotions right now – it’s about hers.

Matt steps forward, intent on making his way over to where Jack and Alex sit – the gravel crunches under his shoe once, twice, and then a small, cold hand circles around his wrist and he stops in his tracks. He glances down at the hand closed around his wrist and then follows it up to meet thunderous blue eyes.

Deni stands before him, pink pages clutched in her free hand, and Matt is certain he’s never seen her quite so livid before.

“Did you read this _shit_?” She asks through clenched teeth, jamming the pages up at Matt’s face.

Matt blinks at her, “Yes. I did…”

Deni huffs, annoyed, “And?” Her voice is loud, high-pitched, and some of the surrounding people stop to look at them.

Matt doesn’t want to, but his eyes dart up to where Alex and Jack sit on the picnic table. Matt grimaces when he sees both of them looking at he and Deni. His hand drops down and he pries her hand away from his wrist, uncurling her fingers, his eyes still trained on Alex.

He shoots a questioning glance at Alex – one to ask if she’s alright with the changes, to try to discern how she feels – but she either doesn’t read his look properly or she chooses to ignore it, he’s not sure which. Instead, she looks at him with bemusement, lightly shaking her head as a small smile spreads across her face. The corners of his own mouth curl until he’s smiling back and she winks at him. He doesn’t have time to decipher the meaning behind it, though, because Deni’s angry voice snaps his head away from Alex.

“Matt?” Deni calls his name through clenched teeth, and as Matt looks at her, he can see the barely concealed rage on her face.

Predicting a scene if they stay where they are, Matt grabs her by the elbow, not looking back at Alex and Jack as he leads her into the soundstage, eyes searching for some sort of privacy. His trailer is too far away, he knows they won’t make it there before she erupts by the look on Deni’s face alone.

Spying a small door, Matt opens it and leads her inside. It’s a very small office with a messy desk, a chair, and not much else. He doesn’t know who it belongs to but it’s currently empty, so Matt figures it’ll do for now – it’s good enough to shield them from prying eyes, at least.

Deni throws her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at Matt, pink pages still clenched in her angry fist.

“Well?” Deni demands, her body emanating rage.

Matt runs a hand through his hair, staying silent for a moment, unsure exactly what to say. He thinks it’s brilliant – thinks it’s a twist that no one will see coming and the way Daniel’s written it, it’s even believable. It doesn’t feel like shock for shock’s sake – it just feels like a natural progression, and he can’t wait to film it for more reasons than one. 

But, of course, he can’t say any of that – for all of Deni’s wrongdoings, he’s not cruel.

At his silence, Deni quietly seethes before taking a step towards him, the rage still burning in her eyes, “Well, what do you plan to do about this?” She asks, pushing her hair out of her face, her eyebrows raised in concert with her question.

Matt’s jaw drops open as the disbelief washes over him, “What would you have me do?” He asks, not because he has any interest in actually doing it, he’s just curious what Deni thinks _he_ can do about this.

Deni throws her hands on her hips, pink pages crinkling at her side where they now sit on her hip, “You’re the _lead_ , Matt,” she says, her tone incredulous as though he’s daft, “You can stop this.”

Mat considers her, raising his eyebrows, “Are you mad?” He scoffs, “Have you never _met_ Daniel DeLuca?” He shakes his head, “There is _no_ way anything I say to him is going to change his mind. Hell, he’d probably kill my bloody character off just for asking in the first place.”

Deni lets out a loud high-pitched noise of frustration, her face contorting with the effort, and Matt does his best not to laugh at the sight. She looks like an angry, petulant child. She knows he is right, though.

As nice as Daniel is, he doesn’t take too kindly to dissent, and approaching him about this would be a big risk with likely dire consequences for his character and his career with this studio and with others. Carte blanche was really, truly an understatement to describe what Daniel has with the powers that be at the network and in the industry at-large. It’s a risk he’s simply not willing to take.

Matt half expects Deni to ask him to do it anyway, but she doesn’t.

“This is ridiculous!” She exclaims, holding up the pink pages, still keeping one hand glued to her hip, “Absolutely ridiculous! No one is going to believe _this_!” She rolls her eyes.

“Believe what?” Matt crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling quite defensive and on guard.

“This!” Deni yells, thrusting the pink pages towards his face and waving them around a bit.

Matt sighs exasperatedly; he has a feeling he knows exactly where she’s going with this, but he refuses to give her the satisfaction of connecting the dots for her. Especially when it’s exactly the opposite conclusion Matt himself had come to.

He tells the truth instead, “I think it’s quite a brilliant twist, actually,” he shrugs. He hadn’t intended to tell her that, but when she started headlong down this road he’d stopped caring quite so much about not being cruel.

Matt was wrong before – at the look that crosses her face now, he knows instantly that _this_ is the most livid he’s ever seen her.

“This?” She waves the pages around incredulously, “You think this tripe is a _brilliant twist_?” Sarcasm drips from her words and when Matt just stands there, not moving, she rolls her eyes, “As if anyone is going to believe this,” she speaks through gritted teeth, all anger now.

“Believe what?” He echoes his earlier question, but he asks it forcefully now – his eyes narrowing as he feels his own anger bubble up inside of him at Deni’s obvious insinuation.

“You _really_ think anyone is going to believe you’d choose _her_ when you could have _me_?” Matt stares at her in stony silence, “ _Her,_ really?” She scoffs, “Well on her way to sixty, two failed marriages and from what I’ve read, self-esteem issues to fill a small country or two – and _really_ , you’re going to choose her?” She shakes her head, a cruel smile spreading over her face, “Daniel’s lost his touch for realism, it seems.”

Matt stands completely still for a moment, trying to concentrate on inhaling and exhaling, trying to find his calm because he feels the sudden urge to yell – his anger at Deni and her ridiculous words rushing through his body.

He swallows the anger, bites it back, unwilling to let Deni see that she’s gotten to him, riled him.

“First of all,” Matt says, his eyes filled with a quiet rage that his voice mirrors, despite his best efforts, “You’re talking about Alex, not her character – I thought you realized, despite your obvious flair for the dramatic, that this,” he grips the pink sheets tightly in his hand, “Is a television show.” When Deni narrows her eyes at him, Matt smirks, but it’s dangerous, filled with contempt he doesn’t even bother trying to hide, “Second of all,” He speaks through gritted teeth, “You have no sodding idea what you’re talking about, and _I_ think,” Matt pauses, stepping a bit closer to Deni, not in an attempt to physically intimidate, but because his voice is so low with anger that he wants to make sure she hears him, “You would do well to keep Alex Kingston’s name out of your petty mouth.” The words feel mean on his tongue as he says them, but he doesn’t care.

Deni smirks, but her eyes belie her surprise. For whatever reason, she’d apparently expected him to go along with hit, her vitriol. It seems she doesn’t know him every bit as much as he doesn’t know her.

Good actress, rubbish at reading a crowd, apparently.

“Bit of a sore spot, then?” She cocks her head to the side, and his eyes flash in response, “If I’d have known you wanted to shag your _mum_ , I’d have suggested role play ages ago,” her smile is mean, calculated.

Matt clenches his fists at his side and lets out a scoff of disbelief before he looks at her sadly, “Who are you?” He asks the question quietly, though it’s more to himself than to her. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen this – _her_ – lurking under the surface from the beginning.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see. Too eager to forget things he knows now he can never forget, not truly. Things he doesn’t _want_ to forget, even if they hurt him.

“Your dream girl.” Deni smirks as she waves a hand over herself.

Matt barks out a mirthless laugh at that before eyeing her incredulously, “Without the personality, maybe… six or seven years ago. But now?” He shakes his head, “Not even close.”

Deni quirks her eyebrow at him, her face contorted again in anger, “Oh, and I suppose _she_ is?”

Matt sighs, “ _She_ is a lot of things,” His face softens, and this fact clearly only fills Deni with more rage, “The woman of my dreams is only one of them – one thing on a long list of others, all of them good,” Matt finishes, narrowing his eyes at Deni.

“You’re disgusting,” Venom drips from her words, “You both are.”

“What’s disgusting,” Matt eyes her with disdain, “Is the way you treat people,” He tilts his head to the side, appraising her, “Your star rose fast and is shining brightly, but it certainly won’t be for much longer if you continue to treat people the way you do,” He smiles at her wanly, “We’re through, by the way. In case that wasn’t clear.”

He’d intended to end their relationship with at least a bit of aplomb, but in the face of Deni’s bitter and mean tirade, that intention faded and gave way to something more dire. The need to simply end it once and for all, like he should have done long ago.

Deni’s face is thunderous once more as his words sink in and she opens her mouth to say something heinous, no doubt, when the door behind her opens.

Daniel pokes his head in and Deni whips her head around to face him. Daniel looks from Matt to Deni, takes in their expressions, and smiles, “Not _shagging_ , then,” He rolls his eyes, “Stop… breaking up in Bob’s office, we’re having a cast scrum and your attendance is required.”

Rather than closing the door, Daniel pushes it open all the way and steps into the office – Bob’s apparently – and holds the door open for them. Deni doesn’t turn around to look at Matt, simply huffs and makes her way through the door.

Daniel grins at Matt and despite the emotional conversation he just had, Matt finds himself smiling back at Daniel – that crazy, perceptive genius – before he walks through the door and follows Daniel and a very angry Deni towards the cast scrum. It’s being held in a quiet corner of the set, the crew dismissed for a long lunch, everyone on a need to know basis only.

Matt stands next to Daniel as they take their places in the small circle comprised of the central cast members, the first and second ADs, and two writers, both of whom look simultaneously harried and thrilled.

Deni takes her place in the circle next to Doug, and she leans against the wall behind her, silently seething. Matt’s eyes drift around the circle and his petulant heart is a bit grateful that Sabrina is standing directly in between Alex and Jack.

It’s ridiculous and childish, and he _knows_ that, but Matt can’t help but be grateful all the same. Seeing Jack and Alex together hurts his heart – and he’s had quite enough of that already today and it’s only half two.

Daniel smiles as his gaze flits around the circle, looking at the brightly colored pages everyone is holding. Everyone – well, everyone except Deni that is – looks vaguely excited and nervous.

Daniel’s last minute rewrites – or strokes of genius as they’ve been affectionately dubbed – are legendary. Stories follow him from film set to film set, but this is the first major one for this series. It’s thrilling and bold and everyone except Deni seems to be humming with excitement and anticipation.

Matt looks at Alex and is pleased to find that she doesn’t appear to be upset by the pages in her hand, at least not outwardly.

“Pink pages,” Daniel says, still smiling, “I see everyone has them, yes?”

When everyone murmurs and nods around the circle, Daniel smiles, nodding his head, “Good,” He claps his hands then rubs them together a bit as he glances around the circle yet again, “So you’ve all undoubtedly heard, it seems our original idea wasn’t so original after all,” He shrugs, “And for those of you who know me,” He looks at his ADs and writers – familiar faces that have worked on many of Daniel’s projects – and smirks, “The one thing I fuckin’ _hate_ is being predictable,” He laughs, “Hence the pink pages you now hold in your hands,” He laughs, “Thanks to the chemistry between these two,” He nods at Matt and Alex where they stand on opposite sides of the circle, “Finding a way out was easy,” He raises his eyebrows, “Now. Any questions?”

The circle remains quiet, that same excited hum still thrumming – an energy pulsing through the group. Daniel is just about to adjourn the scrum when Deni pushes herself up from the wall, anger shining brightly in her blue eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” Deni says, still holding the pink pages in a tight fist.

Daniel smiles patiently, as though he’d been expecting this, “I asked for questions, not opinions.”

Deni narrows her eyes and everyone in the circle watches with rapt attention as she steps closer, “Do you really think you can do this?” She asks, voice tight.

“No,” Daniel shrugs, “I know I can.”

His answer incenses Deni further, and she clenches her teeth, “What if I go to the press?” She smiles, falsely sweet, “Tell them all about this little _twist_ ,” She uses air quotes around the word, “You’d have to change it again then, wouldn’t you?”

Daniel smiles calmly, but his eyes darken as he takes a step toward Deni. He leans in to speak in a low, clear voice, “Go ahead, Ms. Christmas,” He puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, “I’m sure you’ll remember a little NDA you signed at the beginning of this project. You should know it’s iron-clad,” When Deni narrows her eyes and deflates slightly, Daniel continues, “So if you _do_ go to the press, just be prepared to sign over every paycheck you make for the rest of your short-lived career directly to me.”

Defeated, Deni’s shoulders slump, but she still has fire in her eyes, “No one is going to believe this, you know,” She spits the words out, and Matt can’t help but think that she sounds like a broken record playing for anyone who will listen, “No one his going to believe he’d choose that cow,” She inclines her head towards Alex, “Over me.”

Matt’s jaw falls open and he feels the rage burning inside his body again, hot and bright and he feels angry, spiteful words burning on his tongue. He’s just about to release them when another voice cuts through.

“Oh, I think they will,” Matt looks across the circle, “It’s actually the other way around that’s the stretch,” Sabrina says, her voice hard.

Matt looks at Sabrina, sees her leaning protectively towards Alex, and he smiles. Alex, Matt knows, doesn’t need anyone to protect her, but when he looks at Alex and sees the smirk threatening to break across her face, his smile turns into an outright grin.

Deni whips her head and glares at Sabrina; Sabrina lifts her chin in a silent challenge, her eyes fierce, and Deni wisely backs down, turning on her heels and leaving with a huff in the direction of her trailer.

Daniel doesn’t watch her go, but he does call out loudly over his shoulder to her, “We film the lead up to the new reveal in an hour, Ms. Christmas, and you’re required on set.”

Deni doesn’t reply, simply stomps her way across the soundstage before she disappears out the door.

Daniel turns with a wide grin and faces the crowd, “Well,” He claps his hands together again, “You four,” Daniel gestures to Doug, Andres, Sabrina, and Alex, “With me,” He turns around and the four cast members follow him, the ADs and writers close behind.

Matt watches as Daniel sets Doug, Andres, and Sabrina with the two writers, scripts in hand. When he’s satisfied, Daniel leads Alex with a friendly hand on her back towards what Matt assumes is wardrobe. As they walk, Daniel speaks to Alex, leaning his head in closer to her as she nods her head and walks with him, letting Daniel lead.

Matt feels someone step beside him and stare in the same direction he currently is.

“He’s a crazy bastard,” Jack laughs, and out of the corner of his eyes, Matt sees him shaking his head.

Matt grins, mirroring Jack’s action, “He really is,” He chuckles as he watches Daniel and Alex disappear around the corner, “Totally mad.”

Jack sinks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “Brilliant, though,” Jack rocks on the balls of his feet, shaking his head once more.

Matt turns to face him, “Completely,” Matt agrees, “It’s a brilliant twist,” He shakes his head, “No one will see it coming.”

Jack chuckles, “A few might,” At Matt’s curious look, Jack smiles, “I sat in the editing bay for dailies with a friend a week or so ago,” He explains, “Your chemistry might give a bit of it away,” He smiles, “Still brilliant, though.”

Matt nods, not sure what to say; this is exactly what’ he’d meant earlier. Jack is so open and honest that Matt keeps finding it harder and harder to hate him. It unnerves him, actually, because he doesn’t want to think about the fact that a man like Jack would actually be good for Alex.

Matt would be better, mind, because he knows that no one will love Alex the way he does. Still, the knowledge that Jack is such a bloody good guy stings – makes him second guess himself a bit, and his heart clenches in his chest.

Matt clears his throat and nods, “Right,” He says, “Well, I’m just going to…” He hooks his thumbs over his shoulder and points in some nebulous direction away from Jack.

“Look,” Jack removes a hand from his pocket and smooths it over his hair, “I meant what I said earlier about not giving up my pursuit of Alex,” He looks at Matt, as if to make sure he completely understands this point; Matt bristles and shifts on his feet, refusing to acknowledge the statement, “But,” Jack reluctantly continues, “My character says a lot of things in here,” He indicates the pink pages in his hand, “That I don’t agree with.”

Matt nods, immediately aware of what Jack is referencing. When the relationship between Matt and Alex’s characters is revealed, Jack’s character does not react positively to it, to say the least. In fact, he expresses some rather exaggerated and rude opinions on their relationship.

Jack clears his throat, “And… I just think it’s important for you – well, both you and Alex to know, really – that although I share my character’s name, I do not share his opinions on… well.” He finishes, shrugging, unwilling to finish the thought.

Matt nods his understanding – he doesn’t need Jack’s approval. Matt doesn’t care what anyone thinks about his relationship with Alex, even Jack. Perhaps especially Jack, actually.

Still, Matt recognizes Jack’s words for what they are – a sign of respect, and Matt wonders just how _many_ of his own emotions are shared by Jack. Perhaps Jack himself is reluctant to admit that Matt is good for Alex.

Whatever the reason, Matt is grateful for it.

“Thanks,” Matt replies, honestly, and then holds out his hand.

Jack looks at it and smiles before reaching out and shaking Matt’s hand. It’s a brief, friendly handshake that lasts only a second.

It’s not a truce – far from it, in fact. But it _is_ an understanding, a recognition of sorts, and as he walks back to his trailer, Matt wears the hint of a smile on his face.

When he enters his trailer, he sits down on the small couch and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. He lets out a heavy sigh as the nerves creep into his blood. They’re not filming the sex scene today – that’s tomorrow – but they are filming a kissing scene today between he and Alex.

Matt had wanted to talk to her alone, after the scrum, to try and see how she’s feeling about things. But Daniel had whisked her away to wardrobe and Matt had been left to chat with Jack instead. Matt snorts at that unlucky circumstance before his thoughts drift back to Alex.

Matt couldn’t discern how she felt earlier, before his chat with Deni when he saw her sitting at the picnic tables. She’d smiled at him, but she was too far away and he couldn’t read her eyes, couldn’t see if there was something she was hiding from him. And then he’d had to handle the situation with Deni.

Matt scrubs a hand over his face as he thinks about his conversation with Deni – he’d finally done it. He’d broken up with her and despite the way in which he’d done it, he felt a weight off his shoulders immediately. He hadn’t realized how much the wrongness of this thing with Deni had been bogging him down until he was released from it.

He’d of course hoped to do it a bit more gently – to let her down a bit more easily, but after the awful things she’d said about Alex, Matt couldn’t give her his kindness in that moment. He hadn’t even tried, in the end, and he’d feel badly about that, but he just can’t.

Matt thinks back to the anger he felt in that tiny office as he listened to the venom spew from Deni’s lips – awful things about Alex. Untrue things that made his blood boil.

He’s still not sure how Deni had managed to fool him so thoroughly, even as desperate as he was to forget, but he’s glad to finally have done the right thing and ended what had very quickly become a sham of a relationship.

Matt closes his eyes and listens to the analog clock in his trailer count the seconds, and each one that passes brings him closer to filming time; with that knowledge, Matt feels the nerves tighten in his stomach.

By the time Matt wrenches himself up from the couch and down his trailer stairs heading in the direction of the soundstage, he feels just as nervous as he had that very first day at the table read.

When he gets to set, he sees the cast – his fellow housemates, sans Deni and Alex – waiting around. Frowning, his eyes scan the set looking for Alex but to no avail. Just as he’s about to give up and go stand with the rest of the cast, he sees Alex making her way towards the little group from the other side of the studio.

She looks radiant – her curls bouncing as she walks, wearing a form fitting dress under a fitted blazer – and Matt’s mouth goes dry. She nearly _glows_ as she walks towards them, and Matt vaguely wonders how much of his life he’s going to spend struck speechless by the sight of Alex Kingston.

_Much_ , much more of his life, if he has anything to say about it.

When Alex joins the group, stepping next to Sabrina and grasping her bicep in a warm greeting, Matt shakes himself from his stupor and heads over to the group as well. As he arrives, Alex looks up and smiles at him warmly – he finds himself grinning back at her, his smile silly and wide across his face.

Daniel briefs everyone on the updated shooting schedule, giving a rundown before he gives everyone stage direction. As he speaks, he scans the set for Deni, muttering a bit under his breath about _divas_ before he finally catches sight of her stomping across the studio in costume.

Daniel shakes his head in exasperation before turning his full attention back to the group, “Matt, Alex,” Daniel says, “You’re over there,” He gestures to a small alcove of the set, inset a bit from the rest of the cast; they’re to film a party scene in a quiet house that will serve as the lead up to the sex scene. Nodding, both Matt and Alex make their way to the alcove, turning to watch Daniel give a few stage directions to other cast members.

Deni is positioned across the set and she stares daggers at Matt and Alex.

Alex stifles a laugh at Deni’s glare, “She’s sure not subtle, is she?”

Matt’s head snaps up to look at Alex and she nods in Deni’s direction – he glances at her and then looks back at Alex, shaking his head, “Not at all.”

Deni keeps glaring, her eyes narrow, the anger palpable as she stares at them. Alex smiles at Matt, “She is a real _gem_.”

Matt smiles – Alex is always diplomatic, even when someone has been as uncouth to her as Deni has been, “So I’ve learned,” He laughs, “You think you know someone…”

Alex chuckles, fidgeting a bit with a prop statue on the table next to them, “Oh darling, you don’t have to tell _me_ ,” She shakes her head, still laughing.

Matt swallows and nods in understanding, still looking at Deni; Alex knows better than most what it’s like to feel like you know someone only to discover that you absolutely don’t. Only to discover that they’ve been lying to you, fooling you for _so long_ – she knows what it’s like to wish you’d seen things clearer in the beginning, middle, or even end.

As Deni finally turns her attention away from them and to her nails instead, Matt turns his attention back to Alex.

“I ended it,” Matt whispers, watching Alex carefully.

She doesn’t speak for a moment before she finally nods, clearing her throat, “I figured as much.”

Her expression gives absolutely nothing away, but Matt studies her anyway.

She looks so beautiful up close, and it’s always stunned him, but especially so today. Natural makeup – or, as natural as on-camera makeup can be at least – and he smiles, quietly watching her as her fingers gently trace the outline of the statue, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Feeling his gaze on her, she turns her head away from the statue she’s fiddling with and meets his eyes. A small smile spreads across her face as she finds him watching her.

“What?” She asks through the smile.

Matt smiles, “Nothing – just… you.” He finishes, shrugging.

She arches her brow at him, “Me?”

Matt nods, “You,” he fixes her with a soft look and he wonders if she can read the weight of his emotions for her in his eyes. In case she can’t, he settles on the least of them, still somehow stronger than anything that has come before, “You’re beautiful.”

Her hands stills on the little statue and she smiles, “Matt…” she hedges, and at his stern look, she laughs gently, “Thank you,” she whispers.

Silence hangs between them for a moment, and he wants to say more. Wants to tell her _so much more_ , but he can’t – not yet. He clears his throat, “Some twist, huh?”

Alex drops her gaze back to the statue and snorts softly, “Yes, quite.”

She refuses to look back up at him, instead watching her own hand smooth over the head of the statue. Matt feels suddenly nervous, worried that her avoidance has to do with the scene they’re set to film tomorrow. The very last thing he wants to make Alex is uncomfortable.

“Alex,” Matt ventures, watching her hand as it grips the statue, “Are you… are you okay with…” Matt stammers a bit, his words catching in his throat and he feels a bit ridiculous, “With the scene we have to shoot tomorrow?”

She looks at him then, dropping her hand from the statue and watching him quietly, her lips parted as her tongue darts out to wet them, “What do you mean?”

Matt looks at her pointedly, “You know what I mean,” he says, and when Alex hesitates, he feels his stomach drop, “I could talk to Daniel.” The words rush out of him, fast and hard, “I could talk to him and see if he’d be okay with cutting the sex scene,” Matt shrugs, “He and I aren’t exactly mates, but we have professional respect between us, so he may listen if I tell him that you’d rather not… that you’re not exactly comfortable…” Matt can _feel_ the blush on his face, can hear the nervousness in his words, but he opens his mouth to say more.

“Matt,” Alex cuts him off gently, laying a hand on his forearm. He can feel the heat of her palm even through the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing and _god_ has he missed her touch, “It’s… it’s fine,” She pats his arm once and then removes her hand – it’s a simple touch, but he feels the loss keenly.

It’s the only way he feels loss when it comes to her.

Matt eyes her with a bit of suspicion, “I could talk to him – I _will_ , Alex, if you want…”

She smiles at him, “You’re sweet – it’s… it’s not that,” She shakes her head, “I’d never be uncomfortable with you, darling,” She whispers, “Never.”

His heart stutters in his ridiculous chest at that – at the sincerity of her words – and he smiles at her, grateful when she returns it. He tilts his head to the side, considering her, “What is it, then?”

“Well… it’s just,” Alex sighs, fiddling with one of her curls, “It’s not very believable, is it? Your character choosing mine?” She smiles at him again, this time attempting to be self-deprecating, but he’s not having any of it – not this time.

“Yes it bloody well is,” He snaps, and his anger surprises even him a bit, but it’s always back to this – back to the age difference, back to Alex not believing anyone would choose her, “It is believable Alex – even if you take real life out of the equation for a moment, Daniel isn’t an amateur. He’d not write something so out of the realm of possibility,” Matt finishes, his hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers in frustration.

His goal here is not to defend Daniel, of course, but it _is_ true. Daniel DeLuca is known for writing about human relationships. Flawed ones, usually, but human all the more for their failings. The fact that he’d seen this – written it – meant just as Matt suspected: the rest of the world could see it too, what’s between them.

Alex’s eyes are wide as she stares at him, “I wasn’t trying to… I just meant to…”

Matt shakes his head sadly, “I’m not sure why you’re so intent on believing that no one would choose you, Alex,” He smiles at her, “When there’s actually a queue to do just that.”

Alex shrugs, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth again – it’s one of Matt’s favorite habits of hers, “No one ever has before,” she whispers, quietly.

Matt stares at her, his eyes searching her face. He dips his head down and catches her eyes, “Maybe it’s because you wouldn’t let them,” He raises his eyebrows at her and she opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out, “And the few times you have let them - it hurt you,” He speaks softly, gently, “I understand Alex, but I have to tell you that the last thing I _ever_ want to do in this life – or in any other – is hurt you.” He shakes his head; he’s not sure when they stopped talking about the characters and started talking about them, instead, “I’d choose you every time, like I told you last night. Now, you’re scared. That’s fine. But don’t go saying this,” he gestures between them with his hand, “Is _unbelievable_ ,” He sighs, shaking his head again, “Some days, it feels like the only real thing I know.”

Alex looks at him for a long moment, her eyes shining, before she smiles – “Thank you, darling,” She whispers, and her meaning is clear – not just for this.

For his patience, for his honesty, for his love – she doesn’t believe she deserves any of it, but Matt is only sad he doesn’t have _more_ to give her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’s your heart, hon?” She asks, pausing to peer at Alex over the top of the magazine.
> 
> Alex bends to pick up her bag, “Fine.”
> 
> Maggie winces, “That bad, huh?”
> 
> Alex glares at her, but she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face at Maggie’s look.
> 
> Alex hops up on to the counter, tossing her bag next to her. She buries her face in her hands and peeks at Maggie through her fingers, “What am I going to do?”
> 
> Maggie snaps her magazine shut and tosses it in Alex’s general direction. It hits her in the knee and she glares at Maggie who simply watches her in amusement.
> 
> Maggie sighs, “I can’t tell you that, hon, any more’n you can tell your heart. I can, however, tell you what you’re going to do tonight.”

Alex stares at Matt, the set lights reflecting off his chestnut brown hair, and not for the first time wonders how he’s able to give her so much. He’s so young, but he gives so freely of himself – and not just in acting, though he is generous in that, too.

He gives her confidence – the way he looks at her, speaks to her. She feels safe, she always has with him, and ironically that’s a very scary feeling for her. She hasn’t relied on anyone for that in a very long time, and for good reason. She learned long ago that the only person she can truly trust is herself – learned that other people would simply let her down, and in the most heartbreaking ways.

But even that she’s not so sure of these days. Not in the face – not in the hands – of Matt Smith, anyway. After all, she’s the one who walked out and didn’t look back except privately, every single day. She walked away from Matt and everything he could give her – would have, she thinks, if she’d let him.

Then, the problem was never what he gave her. It was always, always what she couldn’t give him.

She considers him now as he stands before her – tall, handsome, wise beyond his years because he’s right; even though she’d never told him, still he had known. Known what she keeps so hidden – the silent fear, rooted in years of an unhealthy relationship in which she didn’t feel seen, in which she didn’t feel good enough. She spent years nursing those insecurities – spent years in the hands of a man who nursed them for her, dealt in them the same way he dealt in lies and deceit.

And maybe it isn’t fair to cast those old aspersions on Matt now, but the shadow persists. Just as you can’t tell your heart what it wants, you can’t tell your heart to heal itself, either, no matter how long ago it was broken and in what ways.

But she can’t tell Matt that, can’t find the words, especially not in a roomful of people so she just smiles and says what she can – thanks him and hopes he understands. By the way he looks at her she thinks that maybe he does. That maybe he’s the only one who ever has – who ever will.

Silence settles between them as they wait and it feels like an old friend this time, not an unwelcome houseguest and it leaves her feeling hopeful that no matter what happens between them going forward – no matter whether she listens to her head or her heart – they can stay friends this time. Even if the word will always taste bitter in her mouth, they can still have it. They can still have _friendship_ , if nothing else.

Daniel calls for quiet on the set and almost immediately the rapid-fire call out begins – when Daniel says ‘Action,’ Alex’s heart is pounding in her chest as the cast says their lines and Alex and Matt wait for their cue.

When it comes, Matt takes a beat and then steps forward, his hand gently cupping her cheek. She leans into his touch, her eyes meeting his as his thumb lightly caresses her cheek before he leans forward and covers her mouth with his.

And even though she felt it last night, his mouth against hers, even though they’re acting now, Alex feels her chest tighten with emotion. Matt’s mouth on hers has _always_ been a revelation.

She opens her mouth against his and feels Matt smile against her as his tongue slips gently into her mouth. He tastes like tea and she moves her hand to his bicep, her fingers curling around his arm as she rises up on her toes and leans fully into his kiss, into his embrace.

When Daniel calls cut, they break apart slowly, eyes still closed. When Alex finally opens hers, she sees a faint smile on Matt’s lips and the sight nearly breaks some unnamable thing inside of her.

They film the kiss five more times with a bit more direction from Daniel, and every time Matt’s mouth covers hers, Alex feels overwhelmed with emotion for him – feels on the brink of something and she knows it’s not her character, that it’s _her_ feeling this way about _Matt_ , but she uses it anyway.

On the sixth take, Daniel doesn’t cut film, he simply instructs them to stop kissing and they do. Matt pulls away, slightly breathless, his lips slightly swollen, and his thumb gently caresses the line of her cheekbone as they stare at each other. The moment feels thick, heavy, _important_ , and it feels odd to be having it in front of various cast and crew. But it feels right, too, in a strange sort of way.

Alex can _feel_ the intensity of her own gaze just as well as she can see the intensity of Matt’s as he looks at her.

When Matt leans in and presses a final tender kiss to her lips, Daniel does call ‘cut’ and the word pulls her out of the moment.

She feels suddenly shy as she looks at Matt, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth and glancing at the ground before Matt reaches out and gently squeezes her hand before letting it go.

They both turn to look at Daniel then, awaiting instruction, but he is quiet, speaking in hushed tones with his first AD. Finally, he breaks into a wide grin, stepping forward and looking at them, obvious delight playing over his face.

“This,” Daniel says, gesturing between them, “Oh, this is gonna _work_ ,” He grins again, “That’s a wrap for today, everyone.”

Alex smiles at Matt and they stand there for a moment, both trying to recover, Alex trying to stop the rush of blood through her veins.

Daniel calls Matt, Jack, and Sabrina over and Alex smooths her palms over her dress, trying to stop the gentle shake of her hands.

Kissing Matt had always been pleasant – on or off set – and it had always affected her, if she’s honest, but the sweat slicking her palms now, the light tremble in her body, the way her heart flutters in her chest – it’s never affected her _quite_ so thoroughly before. His confession last night makes the electricity that’s always been between them somehow even more potent.

She shakes herself from her mini reverie just in time to see Deni staring at her with cold, narrowed, clearly calculating eyes. After a tense moment, Deni stalks off with a shake of her head, her blonde waves falling down her back as she walks.

Alex checks her watch and heads to pick up her bag from where she stashed it in hair and makeup. When she walks in to the room, Maggie is reclined with her feet up, an old beauty magazine in her hand. She disinterestedly flicks through the pages.

“How’s your heart, hon?” She asks, pausing to peer at Alex over the top of the magazine.

Alex bends to pick up her bag, “Fine.”

Maggie winces, “That bad, huh?”

Alex glares at her, but she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face at Maggie’s look.

Alex hops up on to the counter, tossing her bag next to her. She buries her face in her hands and peeks at Maggie through her fingers, “What am I going to do?”

Maggie snaps her magazine shut and tosses it in Alex’s general direction. It hits her in the knee and she glares at Maggie who simply watches her in amusement.

Maggie sighs, “I can’t tell you that, hon, any more’n you can tell your heart. I can, however, tell you what you’re going to do _tonight_.”

Alex arches her brow in question.

“Dinner,” Maggie smiles, “The girls and I are going to City Walk for dinner and so I can show them how to properly ride a mechanical bull,” She picks up her purse, “You’re coming too, and you’re wearing _that_. Millie from Wardrobe can go to hell,” She grins wickedly, “No bull for you, though,” As she pulls the door open and lets Alex pass through, she winks, “Something tells me you’d ride it better than any of us,” At Alex’s hesitant look, Maggie grins, “If I break a hip, you can leave. And we’re leaving that harlot Millie from wardrobe behind, so you don’t even have to worry about that.”

Alex laughs, considering Maggie’s offer. She really doesn’t want to go back to the house tonight – with no mandatory bonding activities planned, it’s going to be a relaxed night, but given the current state of her life and her emotions, not to mention her bloody _heart_ , Alex knows there would be nothing relaxed about it for her. It would be charged, fraught with tension, and despite her hesitation and the tiredness that seems to have seeped directly into her bones, she relishes the chance to avoid all of that, even if only for a night.

Decision made, she follows Maggie to the parking structure where Victoria and Kristin wait. When they see Alex, they giggle in excitement and Alex smiles, pleasantly surprised by their reactions.

So many of her old friends out in LA had moved on, most weren’t even living in the city anymore, so she hadn’t expected much when she arrived. But these women have welcomed her into their group with open arms and she is grateful for it. It’s a feeling that follows her all the way through the crowded side streets to city walk; it follows her as they navigate the crowd and find the restaurant they’re looking for, mechanical bull stood proudly out front.

She can’t _forget_ , but she can try, and sometimes that’s enough.

Alex spends the night sipping on one margarita, careful to not over indulge given what she has to film tomorrow, and laughing. She feels as close to carefree as she has in weeks, watching all three members of the hair and makeup team ride the mechanical bull. When Victoria turns to Alex to ask if she’s next, Alex laughs, shaking her head.

“I have to do an entirely different kind of riding tomorrow,” Alex pulls an exaggerated wink, “Best not, or I’ll be too sore for that.”

It takes a moment for her meaning to sink in, but when it finally does, it draws peals of laughter from Victoria and Kristin.

Maggie just smiles at her knowingly, and when the younger girls go back to chatting with men at the bar, Maggie raises her eyebrow at Alex, “Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of _that_ , now would you? Riding Matt?”

Alex nearly chokes on her margarita and is thankful for the lowlight of Saddle Ranch so Maggie can’t see the blush that crawls across her cheeks.

Maggie knocks back the shot in front of her – her first and last of the night, “You nervous?”

“No,” Alex lies, stirring the ice in her now-empty margarita glass with her straw.

Maggie snorts, “Great actress, terrible liar. Anyone ever tell you that?” When Alex doesn’t respond, simply rolls her eyes, Maggie continues, “Don’t be.”

Alex lifts her margarita glass and sucks an ice cube into her mouth, “Easier said than done, I’m afraid.”

Maggie nods, “Most things are. Still, no reason to be.”

Alex laughs, and it sounds bitter even above the din of the restaurant, “Right,” she sighs, “Just a woman barreling rapidly towards sixty in bed with a handsome young man scarcely in his thirties.”

Maggie eyes her for a long moment, “The feminist in me has to tell you that you should really look at how you phrased that,” she shakes her head, “And anyway – maybe under normal circumstances you’d be right, but you’re talking to _me_ , and you’re forgetting two things, darlin’.”

Alex crunches the ice cube, shivering a bit as it hits her teeth, “And what’s that?”

Maggie turns on her chair to more readily face Alex, “I’ve seen _you_ ,” she says, her gaze roaming over Alex’s body – when Alex rolls her eyes again, Maggie laughs, “And more importantly, hon… I’ve seen the way that handsome young man barreling rapidly towards forty _looks at you_.”

Alex sets her margarita glass back down on the table – she doesn’t want to ask, but the words float out into the air quite without her consent, “How does he look at me?”

Maggie scoffs, “Like you don’t know?” she shakes her head again as she pushes her empty shot glass towards the edge of the bar, “That man looks at you like you’re the moon and he’s the tide; like he wouldn’t even _exist_ without you.” She sighs, “And forgive me for saying it because I _do_ like Jack, but damn if you don’t look back at Matt that exact same way.”

Alex feels like every bit of air has been drawn out of her lungs, feels like she can’t breathe. She’d known, of course she’d known, but hearing it like this from someone else shocks her. She’s always known how she’d looked at Matt, could feel it settle on her face – but she hadn’t realized she was quite so transparent.

“It’s complicated.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Maggie sighs, shrugging, “And you’re gonna make your choice, darlin’, and you’re gonna have your reasons for making it. But no matter what that choice is in the end, I _do_ know that you don’t need to be nervous about tomorrow.”

Alex nods once, smiling as she swirls the last bits of ice around in her glass. Maggie looks at her appraisingly, but thankfully doesn’t say more.

Maggie is right, Alex knows she is, but in the face of her nerves and emotions, Alex has never been the most rational person at the best of times.

The night continues – they leave Saddle Ranch and walk down City Walk, stopping at the candy store before popping inside Margaritaville where they spend the rest of the night laughing and smiling. Alex has one more margarita, but only drinks half of it. Despite Maggie’s words of encouragement, no amount of alcohol will soothe her nerves about what is scheduled for tomorrow.

By the time they finish, it’s late into the evening and Maggie insists on chauffeuring everyone home. She ushers them to the parking lot, grumbling that one never knows what type of killer might pick one up in ‘one of them Uber deals.’

Alex reluctantly agrees and sits shotgun while Maggie drops Victoria and Kristin – roommates, apparently – off at their apartment in North Hollywood. They pull Alex out of the car and hug her, happily gushing over how much _fun_ they had with her and how down-to-earth she is for anyone, let alone a celebrity.

“Oh!” Kristin says when she’s halfway up the small staircase that leads to her building, turning around as though she’s remembered something incredibly important, “Deni is trash,” she finishes, giggling but her eyes are oddly serious.

Victoria nods vehemently in agreement and the two burst into laughter before opening their apartment building door and stumbling inside.

Alex shakes her head, smiling a bit to herself before she slides back in the passenger’s seat and clips her seatbelt.

Maggie indicates before pulling into oncoming traffic with an expletive. Alex stifles a laugh and Maggie cuts a glance at her out of the corner of her eye.

“They’re not wrong, you know.”

Alex shakes her head, shrugging, “She’s young.”

Maggie quirks her brow, but continues looking at the road in front of her, “You ever act like that when you were _young_?” At Alex’s answering silence, Maggie nods, “Thought not.” She turns left on a protected light, “You’ve got a good heart, though.”

Alex sighs, turning to look at Maggie as they wind up the hill heading to the cast house. A comfortable silence descends until they pull up to the driveway, Maggie’s headlights illuminating the mostly dark house. As she pulls to a stop, Alex unclips her seatbelt, thanks Maggie, and gets out of the car.

When Alex is about to close the door, Maggie leans over the armrest and peers at Alex, “You should listen to it,” Alex furrows her brow, clearly confused, “That good heart of yours.”

Alex rolls her eyes with fondness before Maggie grins widely at her, an obvious twinkle in her eye. Alex closes the door, offering Maggie a small wave as she drives away, exiting the circular driveway onto the dark street bathed in only a faint glow of a few streetlamps.

Alex stands for a long moment, watching until Maggie’s taillights disappear. When they are finally gone, Alex heaves a sigh and makes her way into the house.

As she enters the foyer, she’s not sure what she’ll find, but as she cautiously and quietly closes the door behind her and pauses to listen, she finds the house carrying a hushed silence and she smiles. She’d been hoping for a quiet house, but luck is so rarely on her side these days, she’d been convinced she’d find the exact opposite.

She’d do unholy things for a cup of tea before bed, but she’s not sure whether her housemates are out or sleeping, but taking the time to make a cup of tea in either scenario holds a risk of running into a housemate. She doesn’t want to chat idly with anyone from the cast – except maybe Sabrina who always seems to have a way of effortlessly lightening Alex’s mood. But she’s not interested in seeing anyone else – and she certainly doesn’t want to chance running into Matt or Jack.

Her heart, _good_ or not, can’t take it.

So, she forgoes the tea. Instead, walking quietly over to the refrigerator and pulling a bottle of water out before she makes her way over to her bedroom. Once inside, she changes quickly, peeling her clothes over her head and slipping her pajamas on. She folds her clothes on the chair making a mental note to grab them for wardrobe on the way out in the morning.

Maggie might not mind incurring the wrath of Millie from Wardrobe, but Alex would really rather not anger the woman in charge of how she looks on-screen. Shaking her head at the comical sibling rivalry, she pads to the bathroom and goes through her bedtime routine quickly, taking off her makeup, washing her face, brushing her teeth.

Finally, Alex crawls into her bed, sets her alarm, and pulls the covers up around her chin. She burrows down in the covers and stares at the clock blinking red next to her. Without her consent, her mind begins a countdown to the scene she is set to film with Matt – _Matt_.

Her thoughts turn to Matt – he’d ended things with Deni today, had told her as much. She didn’t know how to react to that in the moment, so she hadn’t reacted at all. She’d schooled her expression, though she felt a sense of relief at his words. Relief at Matt being unattached, and relief because regardless of what does or doesn’t happen between she and Matt, Alex wouldn’t want him to end up with someone like Deni. He deserves so much more than that.

Alex can’t help the voice in her head that reminds her that maybe he deserves so much more than _her_ as well. She turns on to her side and feels her eyes flutter shut, heavy with sleep, but it does not come yet. Instead, more thoughts of Matt invade her mind, march through her brain and body like soldiers with a very specific purpose.

She thinks of Maggie’s words tonight; Alex thinks of her own heart beating rapidly in her chest, steady and sure, and she wonders how long she can keep pretending she doesn’t understand what it’s telling her. Wonders if she can possibly keep it up for the rest of her life, if she can make that sacrifice to give someone else what he deserves.

As sleep finally takes her, she feels her heart ask the question she’s been ignoring her entire life, and it sounds oddly like Matt’s voice running through her head: _What about what_ you _deserve, Alex_?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sees Matt fumbling with his tea and a biscuit and bites back a smile, fondly rolling her eyes as she makes her way over to the table.
> 
> “No more second degree burns, darling,” She jokes, sidling up next to him, “I’m going to need your hands in perfect working order,” She flirts, her tone suggestive.
> 
> Matt grins, popping a biscuit into his mouth, “Don’t worry,” He says after he’s chewed and swallowed, “My hands wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the bloody world,” He smiles at her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “Chamomile okay?” He asks, extending his hand with the tea in it.

Alex does not wake with the sun. She wakes long before it, instead, the glare of the clock taunting her with all of the sleep she will not get. Though she knows it’s futile, she tries anyway, closing her tired eyes and bargaining with sleep to visit her just a while longer. Sleep, though, resolutely ignores her.

She blames her mind – and possibly the patriarchy for invading it. As she rolls on her side and stares out her open window into the blackness of the night just before it turns to morning, she remembers a time in her life when she considered a romp in front of the cameras great fun. The idea never made her _nervous_.

At this stage in her life, though, apparently she doesn’t have that luxury anymore. It’s not so much the romps – even the one with Matt – that make her nervous; it’s the public-at-large’s possible _reaction_ to the romps that worries her. In her youth, she simply didn’t care – and a large part of her now _still_ doesn’t care, not in the traditional sense, anyway. But the knots in her stomach tell her that there is a part of her, however small, that _does_ care, and as much as she’d like to, she can’t seem to banish that part of herself completely.

Alex watches through the window as slow sunlight creeps up over the sky, plunging the world before her into a beautiful kind of light – and how _changed_ everything looks at the sight of it; how _different_. Though of course, save for the changing of the guards as far as wildlife is concerned – nocturnal to diurnal – very little actually has changed. Except the light and how we see what it illuminates.

Her heart feels like that sometimes; feels as though it vacillates between lightness and darkness, never really believing the former, knowing that it will always give way to the latter.

There are some parts of the world, she knows, where it stays light every day of the year. There are others where it remains dark and cold, people with red and saggy eyes pretending it doesn’t bother them, the darkness.

Alex has known hearts like both of these places; she has lived in their shadows and found herself lacking in both of them. She has been the red and saggy-eyed girl pretending the darkness doesn’t hurt her. And she has been cloaked in so much light she feared her fate would mirror that of Icarus. That she would float too close to the sun and her wings would melt, plunging her into the sea.

The fear was such that happiness – true happiness in a twilight – seemed foreign to her heart. It still does, except…

She presses her eyes shut against the light and sighs, sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes until she sees colors behind them, brilliant and swirling. Finally, she drops her hands and opens her eyes, frustrated at herself.

She’s not been able to stop thinking about Matt for four years despite having no contact with him in that time. It’s silly of her to think she’d be successful now that she’s seen him near daily for a month.

Alex laughs, shaking her head at her own incongruous nature. She is frequently shockingly jaded or startlingly naïve, rarely finding herself occupying a happy medium between those two dichotomies.

After a quick shower and a quiet breakfast alone, Louis picks her up to take her to set. Normally, they chat away about everything under the sun, but Alex doesn’t much feel like talking today. Louis must sense that because he stays as quiet as she does, his only words checking with her to make sure she’s okay with the soft jazz music he’s playing on the radio.

She confirms that she is and then apologizes to him for her quiet demeanor this morning. He waves her off amiably and they forego their usual coffee run, Alex deciding that she can’t quite handle it this morning. She’s jittery enough without ingesting copious amounts of caffeine. Granted, that never stopped her before, but she feels very confident that she can’t handle both a large coffee and a sex scene with Matt today.

She walks into hair and makeup with a breezy attitude that she doesn’t quite feel. She greets Maggie, who is waiting for her with one eyebrow raised.

Alex surveys the room and finds Victoria and Kristin huddled in the corner on a small couch looking dazed or asleep, Alex isn’t sure which. She stifles a laugh as she turns back to Maggie and shrugs before dropping herself unceremoniously into the makeup chair.

“Kids today,” Maggie sighs, inclining her head towards Victoria and Kristin, “Don’t know how to hold their liquor – don’t know how to be hungover,” She shakes her head as she gets her makeup out of her case and sets it up, “In my day, we’d drink twice as much as those two, not sleep a wink, and still work a full shift bright eyed and bushy tailed,” She dabs her sponge in Alex’s shade, “’Course, that trollop Millie in Wardrobe was always a lightweight,” She grins, “Even more than these two. Shameful, really, “Maggie pauses with the sponge nearly on Alex’s skin but not quite, “Girls!”

When the only reply from the corner of the room is a single grunt, Maggie rolls her eyes, “Just us this morning, then,” At Alex’s questioning gaze, Maggie smiles, “He’s already come and gone.”

Alex sighs, feeling a bit of relief, though she’s not sure whether it’s misplaced. She’s not sure whether it would have been better to see Matt now or when it’s nearly time for them to disrobe. It’s not like she has a choice now, but this way _does_ feel like the lesser of two evils. At least this way, they’ll have a bit of a buffer first.

Maggie does Alex’s hair and makeup in silence today. It’s as if she, too, can sense that Alex is in no mood for idle chit chat. Her heart is too far up in her throat – and the nerves are too busy dancing a jig in her stomach. Both things, she knows, have everything to do with Matt.

She’d not lied to him yesterday when she’d told him she could never be uncomfortable around him. She knows – has always known – that Matt, in these circumstances, would do everything in his power to keep her comfortable and safe.

She hates the part of herself that couldn’t believe he would keep her safe and comfortable off set, too. She hates the part of her that still can’t believe he won’t hurt her.

Still, as comfortable as she’s always felt with Matt in this way – it’s _Matt_. And his hands on her body are all she’s thought about for four years now, so beyond her newly developed nerves surrounding filming sex scenes, she’s also got Matt’s hands on her body in one to contend with. It’s something she didn’t sign on for, something she hadn’t planned for, which makes her all the more nervous.

When her face makeup is applied and her hair sufficiently fluffed, and the full body makeup complete, Alex shrugs her robe up over her shoulders and slowly knots it at the waist.

As Maggie puts her tools in various cleaning solutions, Alex smiles at her, grateful for a new friend who somehow needs to know exactly what she needs.

“Thank you,” Alex says quietly, watching Maggie in the mirror.

A slow smile spreads across her face and she looks at Alex in the mirror, “You’re welcome, hon,” She winks at Alex, “Now you and those magnificent breasts go knock ‘em dead – I’ll have one more check before the big scene, though, just to be sure.”

Alex laughs and rolls her eyes before fishing her phone out of her purse and slipping it in her pocket. She opens the door of hair and makeup and calls a quick goodbye to Victoria and Kristin. One of them – she’s not sure which – grunts in acknowledgement and Alex laughs as she closes the door quietly behind her.

_Ah, youth_ , she smiles fondly, remembering her RADA days and the late nights at various pubs. Parties in her red catsuit, sunrise chats with friends she knew she’d have for life. If she took a single person out of these memories, they were pleasant ones indeed, nearly perfect with the stains of time around them.

Shaking her head, she grimaces a bit – the last person she wants to think about right now – ever, really – is _him_. But especially not before she shoots a sex scene.

So lost in thought is Alex that she doesn’t notice Jack fall in step next to her.

“All out of pennies by now, I’m afraid,” His voice startles her and she stops walking, bringing her hand to her chest, “Sorry about that,” Jack chuckles, stopping alongside her.

Alex turns to look at him – he’s wearing his costume: a custom made suit that stretches across his broad chest. He looks good – _really_ good, actually. She smiles.

“It’s fine,” She waves her hand as she bites her lip, trying not to let her eyes wander too much over his solid form, “In my own head a bit,” She offers by way of explanation.

“Ah,” Jack nods, an amused smile on his face that Alex can’t help but mirror back to him, “Ready to shout at each other?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Oh, I’d imagine I’m always ready to shout at you,” She returns, grinning as he throws her a mock affronted look.

“You know,” Jack leans in a bit, lowering his voice and Alex feels warmth trickle through her at his tone and his nearness to her, “This isn’t the sort of _shouting_ I’d prefer between us,” He smiles, “But a bloke takes what he can get, I suppose.”

Alex laughs, then, a bit impressed with his flirting and willing as always to give as good as she got, “And what _else_ would you like me to give you, then?” Her eyes wander pointedly down his frame now, and Jack throws his head back and laughs.

It’s a full, hearty sound and it makes her smile to hear it. Finally, he looks at her, still grinning as he shakes his head, a clear fondness in his eyes.

“Everything,” He smiles, “ _Anything_ ,” He shrugs, still smiling.

She doesn’t know what to say to that, but he doesn’t wait for her to speak as his face turns serious.

“Alex,” His voice is soft, gentle, and still somehow searching, “The scene we’re about to film…” He trails off and Alex gets the impression that he’s trying to choose his words carefully, “The things my character says…” He smiles gently at her, “I want you to know – and I’ve told Matt this as well – I don’t agree with any of them,” He sighs, “I don’t… it’s not…”

Alex lays a gentle hand on his arm, “I know,” She smiles warmly, “And thank you.”

She thinks about the short scene she’s about to film with Jack – his character has just found out in a rather startling way about the affair between Alex’s and Matt’s characters, and his temper boils over. He says awful things, and Alex has been trying to prepare herself emotionally for _that_ as much as for her scene with Matt.

It’s particularly difficult because Jack’s character parrots every single mean thing she’d said to herself four years ago and then some. In the script is nearly every single thing that made her run in the first place, and confronting that part of her own mind hasn’t been easy, especially given how unexpected this turn was in the first place.

“And you shouldn’t either,” Jack speaks after a long moment.

Startled, she looks up at him, her eyes wide, “Shouldn’t what?” She asks, still a bit stunned at this man’s uncanny ability to read her.

“Believe them,” He says simply, “Agree with them,” Her shock must show on her face, but Jack just smiles, “Your appeal is universal. Whatever happens between us, Alex,” He shrugs, “And I think you know by now I’m certainly hoping for _something_ ,” He reaches his hand up and places it comfortingly on her bicep, “Don’t stand in the way of your own happiness,” He squeezes her arm affectionately, “I think you’ve had enough people do that already.”

Alex smiles, her heart in her throat again, still, because every time she thinks she’s made a decision, every time she thinks she’s made up her mind, something like _this_ happens. And she doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve it, to deserve two men who _want her_ but more than that want the _best_ for her. Whatever it is she’s done in this life or another, she’s thankful for it.

“Thank you, Jack,” She whispers, and she leans up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He smiles, “You’re welcome,” When she pulls back from him he’s staring at her with a quiet intensity that makes her stomach flutter.

Alex wonders if he’s about to kiss her when she hears a throat clear a few feet away from where they’re standing. She turns to see Matt, looking at the ground, shuffling nervously on his feet.

“Daniel,” He clears his throat again, “Uh, Daniel sent me to, um… to grab you,” He finishes, finally looking at them.

Alex can’t read his eyes but she smiles at him, thanking him before they all walk to set together. It feels like the most awkward twenty feet of her life as the silence envelops their group until they arrive at set and Daniel begins explaining to them his vision for the scene.

The scene they’re set to film is what actually takes place directly after the sex scene. It’s the scene where Jack’s character says awful things and while it’s not the order she’d have chosen to film in – a sex scene after being verbally degraded and not in the fun way – it does make the most sense. After this scene, all cast and most crew will be dismissed in order to have a closed and intimate set to film the sex scene.

There’s a bit of a tense silence as Matt, Alex, and Jack all take their places for the scene. They run through the blocking twice before filming begins.

When it does, the three of them transform into their characters. Alex’s robe is cinched tightly around her and she feels the tears burn behind her eyes as Jack throws himself into his character, the same way he always seems to. It’s breathtaking to watch and a bit heartbreaking to be on the other side of – but she’s always loved working with talented actors, and she has no problem rising to the occasion.

However, as words like ‘disgusting,’ ‘ridiculous,’ and ‘old,’ roll off his tongue, Alex feels suddenly grateful for Jack’s decision to tell her earlier that he doesn’t happen to share his character’s point of view. Even in character as she is, it’s still a bit hard to swallow, because those are the words she’d repeated to herself for years, words that kept her from picking up the phone like she always wanted to – they’re words she convinced herself of, and as she lets them wash over her now, feeling the full weight of them, of what they mean and she _uses it_. She uses the pain and the anger and the grief that’s been building inside of her for years.

They do three different takes of the scene – in the first one she cries. In the second two, she meets Jack’s fire with a fire of her own, intense and bright and burning.

When Daniel calls cut, despite the harsh words still echoing in her head a bit, Alex smiles. This character has turned out to be an even better role than she initially anticipated. It’s a role she’s really been able to sink her teeth into, and despite how difficult the circumstances surrounding it have been, she’s so pleased that she accepted this role in the end, whatever her reasons in the beginning. It’s a role women her age in Hollywood were only recently starting to be considered for and it’s thrilling that she’s been given this opportunity at this stage in her career.

After a few minutes of hushed whispering on Daniel’s part as he watches playback, and awkward silence between the three actors, Daniel finally emerges from his place behind the camera.

“We’re good for this scene, everyone,” He grins, “Just the last one for the day and the morning shoot on Friday before this season is a wrap!” he claps his hands once, “Jack, you’re dismissed. Matt, Alex, give us five minutes to reset.”

Jack smiles softly at her as Matt steps away towards craft services.

“Nice job, Alex,” Jack says, leaning in and kissing her cheek, “I’ll see you later,” He smiles again, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks at her.

Alex wants to say something to him but before she can think of what it should be, he’s winking at her and making his way back across the soundstage. She watches him go and then turns towards craft services.

She sees Matt fumbling with his tea and a biscuit and bites back a smile, fondly rolling her eyes as she makes her way over to the table.

“No more second degree burns, darling,” She jokes, sidling up next to him, “I’m going to need your hands in perfect working order,” She flirts, her tone suggestive.

Matt grins, popping a biscuit into his mouth, “Don’t worry,” He says after he’s chewed and swallowed, “My hands wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the bloody world,” He smiles at her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “Chamomile okay?” He asks, extending his hand with the tea in it.

Alex freezes for a moment. She’d told him years and years ago that in America, chamomile was her favorite tea. She’d told him it reminded her of home the most, that it helped calm her down when she was nervous, that of all the bad tea in America, this was the _least bad_. It’s what she drank whenever she needed to forget the life she’d left behind, when it snuck up on her at the oddest times – it made everything seem somehow okay even if she wasn’t sure it was really going to be.

She’d told him all of that, one quiet night in Utah when confession had been on her mind.

She eyes him for a brief moment, trying to figure out if it’s a coincidence or if it’s something he’d remembered and done for her consciously.

One look at Matt – at his sweet face and how he can’t quite meet her eyes and she knows instantly it’s the latter. _Of course_ it’s the latter. And she is not going to _cry_ over tea.

She reaches out and takes the cup from him, allowing her fingers to lightly brush over his. The light, brief contact affects her more than she thinks it should – more than it has a right to, really.

“Thank you, darling,” She whispers, taking a sip and humming in delight as the tea hits her tongue, warm and soft and bright. It calms her almost instantly. It tastes like her past – like her future. And oddly, like forgiveness for herself.

After a long silence during which Alex sips on tea and Matt drinks from a bottle of Smartwater, Matt looks at her carefully, his gaze as soft and questioning as the question that follows.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” He searches her face, “I could still talk to Daniel if you’d like, see if we can’t…”

She smiles at him over the rim of her cup, “You’re sweet, Matt, but… I’m fine,” She laughs a little nervously, “Or will be, anyway,” She grins, “It’s not as though this is my first sex scene, you know,” She leans forward as though she’s telling him a secret, “Far from it, if you can believe it.”

Color suffuses Matt’s cheeks even as he affects a dramatic gasp, “Really, Miss Kingston, I’m _shocked_!”

Alex laughs knowing he’s not thinking about the scene she filmed on this set only weeks ago; she takes another drink of her tea, “At least _try_ and act surprised, honestly,” She looks at him pointedly and he flushes, “My body’s not what it used to be, of course, but I’ll manage,” She finishes with a wink.

“No,” Matt agrees, “It’s not what it used to be, it’s _better_. It has history to it, it’s carried you through and to so much,” He smiles softly, “You have to know how beautiful you are, Alex. How beautiful you’ve always been, but especially now.”

She wants to roll her eyes and make a self deprecating remark or tease him for being so ridiculously cheesy and overly-sentimental, but he’s staring at her with such sincerity and in such earnest that she can’t quite bring herself to do that. Instead, she smiles, reaching out and laying her hand on his forearm.

“Thank you, Matt,” She’s trying to think of what else to say, trying to ignore the emotion blooming in her chest at his words when a PA interrupts them.

“Mr. Smith? Miss Kingston?” They turn and find the same nervous PA from their first night in the house and the one who handed them the pink pages. He smiles at them, seeming slightly less nervous this time around, “They’re ready for you both on set.” He still hurries away and Alex smiles to herself.

She drains the last of her tea as she and Matt wander back over to set. When they arrive, Maggie touches up Alex’s makeup and Alex looks at her sternly, trying to communicate that _this_ time there should be no running commentary about her breasts.

Maggie, however, ignores Alex entirely as she fluffs Alex’s hair, “Ready to get those beauties out for the camera again, hon?”

There’s no doubt Matt heard because he snorts a bit, then turns away from Victoria’s slow sponge dabbing makeup on his face. He tosses Alex a wink and smiles.

Alex glares at Maggie and she feigns innocence, smiling sweetly at her as she tucks a makeup brush in her apron, “ _Beauties_ isn’t really a strong enough word, probably,” Maggie says thoughtfully, though still not quietly.

Matt laughs, “Not even close,” He turns back to face forward to allow Victoria, still looking haggard, to finish his makeup, “Don’t think they make a word strong enough, actually,” He says seriously, but Alex can hear the smile in his voice even though she can’t see it.

Maggie opens her mouth to speak and Alex can _see_ the list of words ready to fall from her tongue and she rolls her eyes.

“Can we stop discussing my breasts now, please?” She tries to make her tone stern, but fails miserably.

And in truth, she quite appreciates what Maggie and Matt are clearly attempting, weird though it may be. They’re trying to ease her nerves and give her confidence without being overt about it. Alex appreciates it all the more because it seems to be working. The knot in her stomach has loosened a bit, quite without her even realizing it.

“Fine,” Maggie sighs dramatically, “Let’s see them, then,” She readies her makeup sponge.

Alex glares at her before she moves to untie the knot at her waist, “Does your husband know about your obsession with my breasts?” Alex quirks an inquisitive eyebrow at Maggie as she gently opens her robe so only Maggie can see.

“Oh, hon,” She shakes her head as she swipes the makeup sponge over Alex’s breasts, “We’ve seen Moll Flanders more than once,” She winks, swiping makeup over one more spot before closing Alex’s robe and knotting it for her, “Course he does.”

Next to her, Matt lets out a sharp laugh and Alex sighs exasperatedly, checking Maggie’s knot to make sure the sash of her robe is secure enough.

Victoria finishes Matt’s makeup and she immediately slumps in a vacant chair, resting her head on her hand and closing her eyes.

Daniel breezes on to set and calls Matt and Alex over to him, smiling widely.

“Alright,” Daniel says, “You guys will have freedom here, but also some direction. Alex, I want you to start on top,” He looks at her and she nods once, “And then at a certain point, Matt, I want you to roll her over and then you’ll be on top. Just wait for my cue to do that, okay?”

Matt clears his throat and for the first time Alex wonders if _he_ is nervous. She hadn’t even though to ask him – too caught up in her own head and own emotions. It’s not like him to be nervous, but she’s changed – and perhaps he has, too.

“Okay,” Matt agrees, smiling.

“Good,” Daniel claps his hands together once and calls for places.

Matt settles into his position, removing his robe and climbing under the sheet on the bed. He holds it open for Alex and she smiles in thanks, kicking her leg out and over his lower torso.

They wait a bit awkwardly as Daniel checks the lighting and calls for a few adjustments.

Alex looks seriously at Matt, “Are you alright, darling?”

Matt swallows, then nods, “Sure,” When she raises an unconvinced eyebrow at him he smiles, “Just… tell me if anything I do makes you uncomfortable.”

Alex smiles, her face softening – this sweet, sweet man – _of course_ it is to do with her, his nerves, “I promise I will,” She agrees, at the same time knowing that Matt – sweet Matt – could never make her feel uncomfortable. But that’s not what he needs to hear right now, and she knows it. He needs to hear and understand that _if_ she is uncomfortable, she will stop him.

He smiles again, but this time it’s not forced – it’s genuine, and as the rapid fire call out to ‘action’ begins, Alex feels the knot in her stomach tighten again. It must show on her face, because Matt’s hands tighten on her waist and his thumbs draw soothing patterns through the silky material of her robe, caressing her hip bones.

“ _Breathe_ ,” Matt whispers softly.

It isn’t until he says it that Alex realizes she’d stopped. She exhales quickly and inhales again right as Daniel calls, “Action!”

“Matt, untie her robe carefully,” Daniel instructs.

Matt moves his hand to the knot in the sash of Alex’s robe and as he works to untie it, Alex trains her eyes on his face. He’s looking at the knot intently, and Alex can feel that his hands are shaking as he works on the knot.

When it’s finally undone, he pushes it open and his eyes trail over the flesh revealed to him. His eyes dart up to meet hers and they’re filled with such longing, such hunger, such tenderness. It’s the same look he had four years ago in his bed and Alex immediately understands that this look, the gentleness in his gaze as he looks at her is for _her_ , not for her character.

Matt lifts his torso up and she leans down automatically. Matt’s mouth finds hers and his kiss is so sweet, and so gentle. He pushes the robe from her shoulders and she sits back a bit, looping her arms around his neck, her bare chest now pressed against his. His skin is warm and soft, and she loves how he feels against her.

His tongue slips into her mouth and she gasps as his warm hands splay out over her back, clutching her to him like he’s afraid this moment isn’t real, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear; when he pulls back, his hand moving around to cup her face, she realizes that’s _exactly_ what he’s afraid of.

And this _isn’t_ real. Except that it is.

He’s looking at her like she’s a chimera, and the storm in his eyes causes the emotions tightly would inside of her to snap and they begin unfurling one by one, quite without her consent.

She kisses him hard, her tongue chasing his and pushing into his mouth. He tastes like gingerbread and _Matt_ and how much she’d missed the taste of him. His tongue swirls around hers and he makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a growl.

But he slows the kiss down, his hand gentling along her jaw as he regains control of the kiss. He kisses her sweetly – _so_ sweetly, and she doesn’t realize that she’s crying until Matt pulls back and catches a tear on his thumb. He leans forward and catches another with his lips until he’s planting tiny kisses all over her face.

She catches his palm and turns her head to place a kiss to it, a silent thank you for this moment, for being here with her like this – open and vulnerable.

“Roll her now, Matt,” Daniel directs quietly and Alex resists the urge to jump.

She’d nearly forgotten that she and Matt aren’t alone. That they are on set with a dozen people watching them.

Matt cradles her against him, kissing her softly as he turns them over so he’s on top of her, his bare chest pressed up against hers.

The weight of him feels nice and her hands move to his back as they kiss passionately, tongues moving softly yet hungrily.

His hips thrust gently and rhythmically for the camera and she arches into him, meeting his thrusts, throwing her head back and gasping as his mouth finds her neck. He kisses and sucks the skin there and her hands slide up his back and into his hair, gripping him against her as she lets out a small moan.

They continue in this fashion for a few minutes, kissing as their hands wander over and explore each other’s bodies, Matt’s warm palm smoothing over her breast as he smiles against her neck.

Finally, Daniel quietly calls ‘cut,’ and Matt immediately pulls the sheet up over Alex, covering her chest. They lie side by side as they wait for Daniel to review the footage. They’re both a bit out of breath and panting, but neither of them dare to look at the other, each of them scared of what they might find – or not find – in the other’s eyes.

After a long moment, Daniel finishes behind the camera. Stepping in front of it, he makes his way over to the bed. Speaking quietly, he praises both Matt and Alex.

“Perfect. That was _perfect_. It was sweet, tender, just… really, really great work,” He sounds in awe as he smiles, “That moment with the tears? _Gold_. Beautiful. One of the most beautiful moments I’ve ever captured on film, actually.” He turns to address the rest of the skeleton crew, “That’s a wrap for today everyone. Thank you.”

Maggie comes and plucks Alex’s robe from the bed, helping her into it.

“Wow,” Maggie remarks as she hands Alex her cell phone.

“Oh, shut up,” Alex rolls her eyes, but bites back a smile as she watches Matt climb out of the bed and put his robe back on. He grins at her and she smiles, shaking her head as she looks down at her phone.

Her first indication that something is wrong is the fact that she has 47 missed calls and her phone has stopped listing the texts and calls out individually.

On a normal day, she’ll get six or seven calls, give or take depending on what is going on in her life at that particular moment. 47, however, certainly means something is wrong.

Alex’s heart plummets straight into her stomach as she thinks about her daughter, her various loved ones. She’s concerned for their safety as she unlocks her phone and her eyes scan quickly over the list of callers.

Many are unknown numbers, some are from friends. Her voice mailbox is now full, and she feels a strange moment of panic and indecision, like she’s not sure what she should do first.

Just then, a text comes through from Mindy: _You okay? Call me._

Alex taps the banner and before she can even think, she’s dialing Mindy’s number from the menu. It rings only once before she picks up.

“Are you okay?” Mindy asks, the concern evident in her voice.

“What’s happened?” Alex asks, the dread mixing in her stomach with whatever lingering nerves are still present – she feels like she might be sick and she doesn’t even have an idea of what’s going on yet; she doesn’t know how much she should panic, but it doesn’t stop her from doing it anyway.

There’s a brief pause, “You haven’t heard?”

Alex shakes her head, “I was filming,” She explains, and when Mindy doesn’t speak, the panic returns to Alex’s voice, “Tell me, Mindy.”

Mindy hesitates for only a brief moment longer, “The press…” She starts, “They’ve been printing…”

“So everyone is safe? My family is fine?” Alex interjects, unable to stop herself.

Mindy gasps, “Oh, yes, everyone is fine – oh my god, I’m sorry! I didn’t even think.”

Alex feels relief flood through her at Mindy’s words even as the dread twists in her stomach at the first ones Mindy spoke: _the press_. The press is rarely kind to her.

“What’s the press saying now?” She tries to sound unaffected, like she doesn’t care, like she’s just asking about the weather. But Mindy is one of her oldest friends and Alex knows she’s not fooled even a little bit.

Mindy pauses again, but then speaks as though she knows Alex would drag it out of her eventually, “They’re… they’re saying that you and Matt…” Mindy trails off, obvious discomfort in her voice.

Alex stands up straighter, on high-alert again, “What _about_ me and Matt?”

Mindy sighs, “They’re saying that you’ve been having an affair – shagging or whatever… god, Alex, the things they’re saying…”

“ _What_?” Alex says the word more to herself than to Mindy, “I’ve got to go.”

“Call me later, yeah?”

Alex agrees and then hangs up, her heart hammering in her chest as her blood runs hot and cold at the same time. She navigates to the internet on her phone; she’s not great with technology, but she can certainly manage a simple internet search. Breaking her cardinal rule, she types her own name into the search bar and waits for the results to populate.

When they do, she feels a sense of horror in her bones because Mindy was right – this “story” about Alex and Matt has been picked up by every gossip columnist and news site on both sides of the pond.

Her eyes scan the page and she sees each headline, each more heinous and hurtful than the one previous:

_History Repeating Itself but in Reverse? Alex Kingston and Matt Smith’s Affair_  
Cougar Alex Kingston takes Young Matt Smith for a Ride  
Class is in Session – Kingston Teaches Smith a Thing or Two

She feels the tears burn behind her eyes and she wants to stop reading but she _can’t_. It’s like an accident on the 405 and she’s a rubbernecker who can’t stop looking. She clicks the next page of results and it’s somehow even worse, filled with more sensationalized and, frankly, cruel headlines. She doesn’t dare click inside any of them, but the previews – just the first few lines – are enough to paint a graphic picture of what’s being said.

She swipes at her eyes and tries to calm her raging heart as it slams in her chest but it doesn’t work. She is still crying, still feeling as though she is alone on an island utterly adrift.

Suddenly, Matt is next to her; he must have been watching her because when she glances up at him, she finds him looking at her, clear concern bordering on panic written on his face.

“Kingston,” He nudges her shoulder gently with his own, “You okay?”

Alex locks her phone and jams it quickly into her robe pocket, “No,” She shakes her head, quietly admitting the truth. She isn’t alright – not at all.

She feels the immense urge to run – to go somewhere, anywhere – away from here. She knows instantly that she can’t return to the shared house tonight. She can’t bear to see anyone or talk about this, can’t bear pitying looks or judgmental ones, and she doesn’t know which of those would be worse to endure. She’s willing to incur Daniel’s wrath if it means she doesn’t have to.

“What is it?” Matt asks her quietly, “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t know how she manages to keep her voice steady when she replies, “They’re…” She trails off, taking a deep steadying breath, “They’re printing things about us,” At his questioning look, she explains, “About you and me, specifically. They’re saying that we are… that we’ve been…”

She can’t form the words, can’t make herself say them. It’s too much of a grotesque representation of everything she wanted with him. It’s lurid and dirty and that’s _never_ what they’ve been to each other, not even that morning after in her quiet moments of shame and self-flagellation.

She looks at him pointedly, waiting for him to connect the dots between her omissions.

Alex sees the moment he does, because his eyebrows shoot up and he immediately reaches into the pocket of his own robe for his phone.

“Blimey,” He whispers, running a hand down his face and she surmises that he must have as many missed calls as she does, perhaps more.

She watches as he unlocks his phone and sifts through calls or texts, waiting for him to see what she’s seen. She wants to go, wants to leave, but she feels rooted to the spot next to him, waiting.

If she’s honest with herself, she wants him to comfort her – the way his presence always has, even though that’s the very last thing she should be getting from him. The very first thing, of course, is _away_. But she can’t bear to do that right now, even if it makes her selfish.

So she stands next to him, ignoring the hushed whispers of the few people left on set. As she stands, blood still running hot and cold through her body, she idly wonders how what she’d most feared – the thing that drove her away from him in the first place – had managed to happen, anyway.

The mortification of it, of what the press is saying weighs on her, but heavier is the fact that she didn’t want this – she didn’t want any of this for _him_. And it’s come, anyway, despite her best efforts, despite the way she broke her own heart a thousand times over to prevent it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing?” she questions, her eyes wide.
> 
> “Fixing it,” he answers, matter-of-factly.
> 
> “Matt, no,” she shakes her head, “You can’t… they’ll…” she sighs, tries again, “Just wait until they…”
> 
> “Stop? Forget?” he interrupts her, “Alex, you of all people know they won’t bloody stop – and they sure as hell won’t forget.” He thinks of everything he saw today printed about her relationship with her ex-husband, events that happened decades ago now, “They never forget.”
> 
> “Darling, please don’t…” Alex whispers the words, and it sounds like it hurts her to say them. Her eyes plead with him, shining with tears, “Please just… just let them have me.”

Matt still feels giddy and a bit sad from the scene he just shot with Alex. He’s watching her, thinking it’s a hell of a combination when he watches her face fall as she looks at her phone.

She makes a quick call and then looks at her phone some more, her expression grim and somber. Matt feels a bit like a voyeur watching her like this, but he also feels instantly worried, so he eventually plucks up his courage and makes his way over to where she stands.

When she tells him as best as she can what’s going on, he fishes his phone from the pocket of his robe. He has 63 missed calls and countless text messages still rolling in even as he looks at his phone.

Unlocking his cell, he ignores all of them and does a quick internet search, his heart clenching in his chest as he looks at the results.

He wants to look at Alex, but his eyes are glued to the screen as he reads headline after headline after bloody headline. When he thinks they can’t get worse, they still somehow do.

His heart sinks even as the rage burns bright in his blood. But he can’t look away until he’s figured out what’s happened. Until he knows why everyone is suddenly talking about them – spreading lies about him and Alex in such a venomous way. He needs to know why the press is suddenly intent on corrupting what he’s always considered – even in years without contact – to be one of his most beautiful and true friendships.

He needs to know why they are intent on destroying Alex.

Matt opens his twitter page – the one that Deni and his publicist practically forced him to make – and it’s filled with mention after mention – vitriol mixed in with a little support.

Eventually, he sees a link; clicking it, he lands on a video – some Dateline or 20/20 bullshit – and hits ‘play.’

It’s a tearful Deni, sniffling and crying, as an interviewer asks her question after question. She looks pained as she dabs at her eyes with a tissue. He can’t hear all of what she’s saying due to the loudness of the set, but he hears enough. He closes the video and sees a trending tag with his name in it.

Dread still settled in his stomach, he clicks it too, and one by one more tweets pop out at him. The tweets are filled with horrible, eye-catching article titles that cast him as either a cheater or a seduced young man, crazed with lust. Alex, however, reads the same time after time. She is painted as a knowing home wrecker, a tasteless vixen clearly without scruples, and as Matt scrolls through blocks of tweets he feels sick to his stomach and unspeakably angry. Not for himself, but for Alex.

The things they are printing about her are awful and mean and draw ridiculous parallels with her past – and they are categorically untrue. Not a single true thing has been printed, far as he can tell. It’s all scandalous tripe, no one even guessing at the true nature of his feelings for her. He doesn’t know if he’s grateful for or angry about that.

His heart thunders in his chest as he looks at his phone and shoves it angrily into his pocket.

Matt looks at Alex, running a shaking hand through his hair, “Alex,” he breathes the word out.

She doesn’t look at him, just bites her lip and stares at the ground. His heart cracks in his chest at the sight of her – so forlorn, so utterly crushed.

Finally, after a long moment, she speaks, staring at the ground, “I told you,” she whispers sadly.

Matt wants to cry – can feel the tears burning at the back of his eyes – and only one thought burns in his mind: _fix it_.

Setting his jaw, he clears his throat, “Right.” At his determined tone, Alex’s head snaps up; he reaches up and tucks a curl behind her ear and then turns from her, heading determinedly in the direction of his trailer.

Alex scurries to catch up with him and Matt stops when he feels her warm hand circle around his wrist. Pausing, he turns to look at her.

“What are you doing?” she questions, her eyes wide.

“Fixing it,” he answers, matter-of-factly.

“Matt, no,” she shakes her head, “You can’t… they’ll…” she sighs, tries again, “Just wait until they…”

“Stop? Forget?” he interrupts her, “Alex, you of all people _know_ they won’t bloody stop – and they sure as hell won’t forget.” He thinks of everything he saw today printed about her relationship with her ex-husband, events that happened decades ago now, “They never forget.”

“Darling, please don’t…” Alex whispers the words, and it sounds like it hurts her to say them. Her eyes plead with him, shining with tears, “Please just… just let them have me.”

Matt’s reaction to her quiet words is visceral and he lowers his voice, speaking quietly but sternly, “No.”

“Matt…”

He shakes his head, and then smiles at her, his eyes softening as he takes in her face – always so beautiful to him, “This time,” he whispers, “It’s _my_ choice, Kingston.”

Matt shrugs out of her grasp and before she can form more words of protest, he’s walking across the studio.

Maybe he should have let her try, but there’s nothing she can say that would talk him out of it. Not this time. Not now that he knows the truth – that she was protecting him all those years ago; protecting him from _this_.

Alex, fallen on her sword and poised to do it all over again. Her words echo in his head as he changes into his clothes and makes his way to his car – he hears her soft, sad voice as she says them: _let them have me_.

It’s simultaneously the saddest and sweetest thing he’s ever heard her say. It encompasses every good thing about her. But _he_ will protect _her_ this time – or he will try to, at least.

He resolutely ignores the mocking voice that tells him he’s already failed in this endeavor, seeing as this is all his fault. His actions – or lack thereof – have caused this and now he will do whatever is in his power to fix it.

As Matt drives to Santa Monica to clear his head, he calls his agent and his publicist back. They’d both left frantic voicemails and sent panicked texts, but he’d ignored them until now. When he finally does talk to them, they both try to talk him down when he tells him what he wants to do about it.

They both tell him to relax, not to do anything drastic, that it will blow over soon enough, that there won’t _really_ even be any fallout from it.

And he knows that they’re right; he knows that it’s true. For him.

But he doesn’t care about himself right now, not even a little bit. He only cares about one person and he knows – he _knows_ – that this will destroy her. He refuses to let it.

“Mick,” Matt finally says in a tone that brokers no argument, “My mind’s made up. Make the call. I want it done today.” When he hears his publicist’s reluctant grumbling consent, he hangs up.

He dials Daniel and informs him of his plan, though he lets him know he’s telling him only as a courtesy – that nothing he says will change his mind. Daniel agrees, backs him up even, and Matt smiles, thankful that Daniel is very clearly on Alex’s side in all of this.

Matt suspects that at Daniel’s core, he is a bit of a _fanboy_.

Daniel does warn him before he hangs up, though: “No spoilers,” he laughs, commenting that despite the optics right now, this will be great publicity for the show when it airs.

Just as Matt pulls off at his exit, his publicist calls him to let him know that he’s arranged an interview with someone called Danielle from The Hollywood Reporter and the terms Matt outlined have been discussed and agreed upon. They’ll be meeting at a small café in Santa Monica. In fact, she’s already waiting for him there.

Miraculously, as he turns down a one way street running parallel to the beach, he finds street parking. As he gets out of his car and feeds the meter, he marvels that he doesn’t even feel nervous. Usually, he gets nervous for these sorts of things, no matter how many he does, no matter how well prepared he is. Awards shows, interviews, they all make him just a bit queasy.

But right now, he is devoid of nerves. He is filled instead with an incredible sense of purpose – Alex’s heartbreakingly self-sacrificial words echo in his head on the offbeat with his personal mantra of the last hour and a half: _fix it_.

Walking to the small café, he feels the biting wind rolling in from the ocean – it’s cold, but it invigorates him and by the time he approaches the small café, he feels readier than he ever has been in his entire life to tell the truth.

Sitting at a table outside the café with a recorder and a laptop in front of her is a woman with long brunette hair and black-rimmed glasses. She smiles when she sees Matt approach.

“Danielle?” He asks, and when she confirms, he sits in the wire chair across from her, smiling.

They chat amiably for a while, talking about his childhood, his previous roles, nothing he hasn’t gone over a hundred times before with a reporter. He never ceases to be fascinated that people actually want to know this sort of stuff about him. The utterly mundane.

Soon enough, though, their conversation turns to the reason Matt asked for this interview in the first place.

Matt can tell Danielle has been briefed and quite likely warned and Matt makes a mental note to thank Mick later. Sometimes, having an absolute bulldog for a publicist has its perks.

The sun is setting and the café will be closing soon, so they don’t have that much time. But Danielle is good – succinct with her questions and by the time they’re saying goodbye outside of the café, Matt feels confident that he has said everything he needed to say.

With time still on his meter, he doesn’t head for his car. Instead, he heads down to the beach, less crowded due to the lateness of the year, but still populated with tourists here and there. He looks at the pier – where they’ll film the last scene of season two tomorrow and then looks back out at the ocean.

It’s the same ocean he looked at with Alex just a few short weeks ago, and it’s the same ocean he looked at for years without her. It’s beautiful, ever-changing, but he briefly wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at it again if he loses her now. And if he _can_ look at it again, he knows it will never look the same. Nothing ever will.

Even with this knowledge – that life, if he loses her, will be duller, Matt didn’t do what he just did in an attempt to win her. He did it because he loves her – because he loves her still, even if she chooses someone else, and he is tired of Alex Kingston not getting all the things she deserves: honesty and the truth chief amongst them.

The waves roll quietly but relentlessly onto the shore, and Matt takes one long final look at the sun setting peacefully over the ocean. He marvels at the waves – how they never tire, never stop.

He makes his way back to the Hollywood Hills, his mind combing over the interview he just gave, hoping it’s enough to satisfy the beast that is the press, to stop the wagging tongues intent on spreading nothing but hatred and blatant lies.

As he parks in the driveway of the shared house, he gets a group text from Daniel to the cast: _Alex won’t be at the house tonight. Special permission from me. She’ll be on set tomorrow, of course, to wrap up filming_.

Matt smiles, sliding out of his car and pocketing his phone: _definitely_ a fanboy.

He can’t feel disappointed that he won’t get to see Alex tonight, though. He’s too glad that she’s somewhere safe, away from all of this drama that he caused.

With a sigh, Matt makes his way into the house, pocketing his keys as he enters the foyer. It’s dark now, and only soft light emanates from various alcoves in the massive house.

Matt steps into the living room and sees Sabrina, Doug, and Andres playing a quiet game of cards at the dining table. Sabrina looks up and smiles at him, her face conveying obvious sympathy and he nods and smiles back.

Jack is sat by the fire, a bottle of beer next to him as he reads a book, glasses perched on his nose. He looks up at Matt and offers him a small smile which Matt returns with a slight incline of his head.

He doesn’t have the energy to try to decode this interaction – but he does know that Jack is worried about Alex, and he feels glad of that, even as he feels a bit possessive. He doesn’t stop to wonder if Jack has been in contact with Alex and of course he doesn’t dare ask. He doesn’t want to know the answer, really, fearful it might be one he doesn’t want to hear.

Matt knows two things by the somber mood of his castmates. The first is that everyone has clearly heard the rumors. No surprise there, of course, it’s plastered all over every inch of the internet right now. He has no clue whether or not they believe them and frankly, he doesn’t care. The second is that Deni Christmas is in this house.

Matt shoots a questioning look at Jack who seems to understand what he’s asking because Jack inclines his head slightly to the room Matt and Deni used to share.

Anger floods through Matt and he takes a moment to rein it in, walks back out of it a bit and steps into something else, instead: how _hurt_ he is by what Deni’s done to Alex and to him. No matter what happens, no matter how righteous his fury, coming at Deni from a place of anger will do him more harm than good, he’s sure of that much.

Still, when he reaches the door, he knocks once, but doesn’t wait to be invited in. He opens the door after a moment and sees Deni standing at the edge of the bed, her suitcase open as she folds a sundress and places it in the bag.

She doesn’t turn to look at him, but her movements slow and her shoulders straighten. Matt steps fully into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He’d expected Deni’s venomous anger to appear instantly, but he hadn’t expected her silence. It doesn’t unnerve him, but it does confuse him and he clears his throat.

She startles and he apologizes, standing in awkward silence before he finally speaks.

“Why did you do this?”

It’s all he can think to ask, the only question his mind can form, reeling from the strangeness of this moment between them.

This is clearly not what Deni had been expecting either, and she turns to face him, her eyes wet.

Matt’s realized by now, of course, that he’s never been an expert at reading Deni’s face, but in this moment, her tears look genuine. Even still, he finds they don’t move him to action. He can’t bring himself to even begin to feel sorry for her.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispers after a long pause and Matt feels the disbelief and suspicion move through him.

“Are you?” His tone is clipped, but he still keeps his voice low, “Are you really?”

Deni nods once, wincing a bit at his tone, “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking… I didn’t _mean_ to…”

Matt scoffs – he can’t help it, “Deni, you went to the press and gave a tearful interview filled with things you know are blatant lies. That feels pretty deliberate to me.” He shakes his head, even if Deni simply _reacted_ without much forethought, she still did this _on purpose_.

She sighs, turning around and sagging against the bed, “I wasn’t _thinking_. I just…” she shrugs, trailing off and looking down at her nails; she begins nervously picking at her cuticles.

Matt leans back against the door, “You _do_ know they’re lies, right?” He asks, staring at her hard from across the room, “That nothing happened. That Alex and I weren’t…”

Deni shrugs, and Matt sighs, “Yes,” she quietly admits, “But you know you wanted to. You know you wanted her.”

He runs his fingers through his hair – no use in denying it now, “That’s true. I always have. Since I met her, long before probably,” Deni looks at him then and he sees a look of hurt and what looks like relief pass over her face. He’s not sure what to make of it.

“I _knew it_ ,” she says, and he sees a spark of anger in her eyes.

“But I did _not_ cheat on you, Deni,” he says, just managing to keep his anger at bay, “You know _that_ , too.”

Her silence confirms the truth for him and he shakes his head sadly, still staring at her, his mouth a thin line of disappointment.

After a tense moment, Deni sighs, “Do you _know_ what it’s like, Matty?” The old pet name falls from her lips but neither of them react to it, “To see someone you…” she trails off, shrugging, “To see them look at someone else?” Her voice is not steady and Matt feels quite certain now that this, at least, is not an act.

His frame tenses at her question and images of Alex and Jack immediately flash behind his eyes – he _does_ know what it feels like, more than he’d like to. More than he’d ever thought possible.

He doesn’t answer her, though, doesn’t want to give that part of himself away. Not to Deni, not now.

“I certainly made some mistakes in our relationship, and I _am_ sorry for them,” he sighs, “But _this_? What you did is beyond the pale,” he feels some of his tightly controlled anger seep into his tone, but he doesn’t try to pull it back, “I didn’t deserve that. And neither did Alex,” he finishes quietly.

Deni nods, “I know,” she looks chastened, but it still does very little to soften Matt’s heart to her. It’s all too fresh.

“God, Deni,” he breathes the words out, hand raking through his hair, “You did this so easily – I have to wonder… Did you even have feelings for me… or was it all just a game to you?”

She shrugs again, eyes now on her bare feet, “A bit of both,” she admits, and Matt immediately understands – it was a game at first, and then it wasn’t. Her eyes slowly meet his, “And for you?”

“I wanted to forget,” he doesn’t tell her what he wanted to forget, she already knows, “And there were times where…” he thinks of all the summer moments he thought _maybe_ , “It was never a game. And sometimes… yes.”

She nods, biting her lip, “Okay,” she straightens and turns towards the bed, begins putting more clothes in her suitcase.

“You’re leaving.”

Deni smiles, “It’s the last night anyway, I’m season wrapped, and,” she lets out a short laugh, “I’m not exactly welcome here anymore.”

The way she says it makes Matt wonder just what happened in the house before he arrived tonight. It makes him smile a bit to know that he’s apparently not the only one with an instinct to protect Alex.

“Can you blame them?” His question is not bitter – it’s soft and quiet and Deni looks at him, her gaze unreadable, “You were reactionary and _cruel_ ,” he explains and Deni flinches at the word, “You need to grow up. Stop treating people like they mean nothing.”

Matt braces himself for an explosion that does not come. Instead, Deni just stares at him and nods before closing her suitcase and zipping it shut.

She braces her hands on her stuffed suitcase, “I should apologize to Alex,” she says it like it’s a question, like she’s asking Matt for advice for how to point her clearly skewed moral compass.

“You could fix it,” he suggests, “Retract it – tell everyone it isn’t true. Admit that you made it up.”

Deni’s face falls, “That would _ruin_ my career.”

Matt’s face reflects his disappointment, though he’s not sure why he ever expected Deni to truly do the right thing, “Not _that_ sorry, then,” his anger returns, “You’ve done quite enough to Alex, thank you. Leave her alone.”

Deni looks like she wants to say more, but she doesn’t, just stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he breaks the silence, “Do you need help with your bags?”

She shakes her head, hoisting her bag down from the bed, “The others are in my car already. I can manage.”

She rolls the suitcase to the bedroom door as Matt pulls it open for her, stepping to the side to let her pass. She stops for a moment at the threshold and looks at him, regret settling in her eyes, though he can’t be sure for which part of what’s happened.

“Bye, Matt,” she says, dropping her gaze.

“Bye, Deni,” he does not move to touch or hug her and after a long moment, she stops waiting.

Deni lifts her chin and wheels her suitcase through the living room – in the foyer, the wheels click against the tile and as she opens the door, she does not say goodbye to anyone else in the cast.

The door shuts behind her and Matt briefly considers joining the rest of the cast for a quiet night in the house, but he doesn’t have the energy. He doesn’t have the desire. With a quiet sigh, he shuts the bedroom door behind him.

He flops on the bed, landing on his back, and he stares at the ceiling, smooth and white, and listens to the hum of silence all around him. He reflects on the day – a long one for only half eight – on everything that happened.

It’s everyone’s last night in the house and he feels a bit sad that it’s been tainted by this drama – by Deni and her vindictive behavior. There is still the cast party, but as far as everyone together like this, it’s over. And it’s been unorthodox, surely, but it ended up being quite fun when it wasn’t melodramatic or tear-filled.

Matt snorts, quiet laughter escaping his lips because it’s quite reminiscent of his life lately.

For the past few weeks, his days have been filled with highs and lows and today was certainly no exception. He wonders what Danielle will print, if she’s finished with the article, if her editor is looking over it now and making changes or suggestions.

The article will come out tomorrow – tonight, actually – and he has no idea what will happen. He has no idea if anyone will believe him, if his words will stop the awful things being said about Alex. He has no idea if he will get through to anyone – if he will get through to _her_.

He doesn’t know if it will be enough – for anyone.

But the one thing he _does_ know is that this time – _this time_ – he will not have a single regret. His heart open for the world to see… but mostly, open for _her_.

He’s ignored every single e-mail, text, call from everyone today – he knows he will need to call people back eventually, and maybe tonight he’ll start with his loved ones. But for now, his mind drifts to Alex.

He wonders where she is, and he hopes she’s okay. He wants to text her, to call her, but she needs space. She needs distance from this. From the wild and swirling rumours about them. And, yes, perhaps from _him_.

So, he doesn’t call. He doesn’t text, but he knows he’s done what he could do. Knows that this time it was _his_ choice and no one else’s, and no matter what happens, there is a comfort in that at least. A comfort in having a choice this time.

As he stares at the ceiling, his eyes burning from too much focus, he knows he will _always_ choose her, one way or another, no matter the consequence. He can only hope that he’s proved it to her, finally, four years down the road and over a thousand days after she wouldn’t let him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex hears again the gentle creak of the wood planks and she knows it’s him before he even speaks – before he’s even standing next to her.
> 
> “Hello, darling,” her voice surprises her with its steadiness – it feels anything but in her mouth.
> 
> “Hello,” Matt moves to stand next to her and even though she doesn’t turn to look, she can hear the smile in his voice, “You do always know it’s me.”
> 
> “Always,” she agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much left to go now.

The darkness overwhelms Alex even as it provides her with an odd sense of comfort. In the dark, at least she can forget, if only for a moment.

She moves around quietly in her friend Kate’s guest room, trying to make herself look as presentable as possible with supplies and clothes that are not her own. She fluffs her hair in the mirror before going about making the bed, even though she knows Kate will change the sheets after she leaves anyway.

She needs to _do_ something. Needs to stay busy, needs to not think about what’s being printed about her. Or whatever the internet equivalent of _print_ is these days. Tweeted, Instagramed, whatever-the-helled. She hasn’t looked at anything since the first articles she saw yesterday; she can’t bear to read more.

When she’s still, when she’s quiet, all she can _see_ is those headlines – the cruelest of them like ticker tape running through her mind.

Yesterday, Alex went straight from set to Kate’s house, not even bothering to call beforehand. When she’d knocked on Kate’s door, her friend’s face made it clear that she _knew_ , but she didn’t ask any questions, just opened her arms and her door, telling Alex she could stay as long as she needed.

Alex smiles now, fluffing a pillow on the bed. What an amazing thing it is to have a friend who won’t ask questions unless you need her to, no matter how many years or miles have been between you.

A loud grumble comes from the hallway and Alex laughs – to have a friend who will wake at three in the morning to drive you to your sunrise shoot in Santa Monica.

She pulls the door open to see her friend standing in the hallway, her long blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, her eyes barely open as she clutches a rather large travel mug of coffee.

“I hate you,” Kate glares at Alex.

Alex shakes her head, “No you don’t,” she slings her purse over her arm and steps into the hallway.

Kate narrows her brown eyes as she looks at Alex, “No, actually, I really do,” she speaks as she leads Alex out of her house locking the door behind them, “You look better in my clothes than I do, for god’s sake.”

Alex laughs and rolls her eyes as she climbs into the passenger’s seat. Clipping her seatbelt, she turns to face Kate as she buckles her own seatbelt and starts the engine, “Thank you, by the way.”

Kate snorts, backing out of her Brentwood driveway, “Welcome. Mindy asked for an update.”

“Of course she did.”

Kate shrugs, turning right as she heads towards Santa Monica, “She cares,” her eyes dart to Alex before they focus on the road, “so do I.”

Alex nods, “I know,” she sighs, looking out the window even though it’s dark and she can only see the sidewalks illuminated by the strange, soft yellow glow of the streetlamps, “It isn’t true.”

Kate barks out a laugh, “Of _course_ it isn’t true… Honestly, Alex. As if you’d _ever_ with someone in a relationship.”

A wave of gratefulness washes over Alex. She’d known, of course, that everyone who knew anything about her would know it isn’t true. Still, the reminder is nice.

Alex shakes her head, her voice quiet and sad, “I keep waiting for it to stop hurting – or at least for it to hurt less.”

“For what to hurt less?”

Alex tries to inject levity into her voice, “Being annihilated by the press,” she shrugs, “People saying awful things,” her voice is heavy with the weight of memory, “It’s somehow even worse when they aren’t true,” Alex sighs, “Or maybe it’s worse when they are, I don’t even know anymore.”

Kate nods, biting her lip in thought. After a long moment, she stops at a red stoplight, turning to look at Alex, “I know. But just remember, right? Just like we always used to say whenever shit got bad… all that matters is your truth, Alex,” Kate considers her, “What’s your truth?” The light turns green and Kate reluctantly sets her eyes back on the road.

Alex turns to look at Kate, at this woman who has known her since their RADA days. She’s been there through Ralph. Through Florian. Through three divorces – two of Alex’s and one of her own. Through fights and rumors and babies and miscarriages. Kate would never judge her, Alex _knows_ that.

As they amble down a strangely quiet road, Alex feels the weight of what’s being said and spread about her on her shoulders.

She feels her truth buried under all of that and it’s crushing. All at once she’s tired of hiding – at least tired of hiding from the people who love her.

So, on a dark road between Brentwood and Santa Monica, to a friend who has known her for over half of her life, the story flows out of her. Alex tells Kate everything that happened four years ago. How she ran, how nothing happened in between then and now and how there were days she felt certain that _lack_ would crush her. How she’s still surprised it never did.

The words tumble out of her and Kate listens intently as she drives. When the story is done, silence fills the car for a long moment and despite the heaviness of everything she just confessed, Alex feels lighter – unburdened somehow from the weight of secrets.

“Wow,” Kate finally speaks, “that’s quite the story.”

Alex nods, drawing her lip between her teeth as she looks at Kate, trying to suss out her reaction, “I know.”

Kate blows out a huff of air, then cuts her eyes to the side to glance at Alex, “You know I love you, right?” Her eyes go back to the road and Alex makes a sound of agreement because she does know, “Okay, good. Didn’t want that to get confused in what I’m about to say next,” she pauses dramatically, “You’re an idiot.”

Alex laughs at Kate’s harsh words and Kate smiles, but maintains her point of view.

“You are,” Kate is laughing, but when she speaks again her voice is serious, “I’ve watched you for years, Alex. I’ve watched you not get what you deserve in your personal life and I’ve watched you believe that it’s all your fault,” Alex opens her mouth to interject, but Kate holds up her hand, eyes still on the road, “Not done. How many times have I watched men treat you like less than the goddess you are only for you to ask what _you’d_ done wrong? Too many times,” she sighs, “And now somehow it’s gotten so bad that you walked away from someone ready to love you because you didn’t want to taint him with… what? You?” She shakes her head, “Bollocks, Alex. You’re a _gift_ and I guess it’s a good job these two blokes after you now seem to realize it because I swear to god if they didn’t, I would not hesitate to introduce my fist to their faces,” she finishes, huffing.

Alex quirks an eyebrow at her, “You finished?” She can’t help the small smile on her face even as her heart sinks a little bit. Hearing about one’s self-destructive qualities is always a bit difficult, even from a friend. Maybe especially from a friend.

Kate looks up, as if considering the question, “Think so,” she smiles, “It’s just… I’ve had a front row seat to your greatness for well on three decades now, and I can’t stand to see you like this.”

“I know,” Alex admits quietly, “And thank you for that.”

Kate eyes her “Welcome. Now,” she smiles, “ _Two_ blokes. What are you going to do?”

Alex smiles and rolls her eyes, shaking her head, “God… I don’t know. They’re both so…”

“Delicious?” Kate supplies.

“Not what I was going to say, but… yes. That, too.”

Kate laughs as they pull into the parking lot next to the Santa Monica pier, dead now except for the film crew populating the empty parking lot. When she puts the car in park, Kate finally turns and fully looks at Alex.

“I know you,” she says finally, serious again.

“You do,” Alex agrees.

“You know what to do,” When Alex doesn’t say anything, Kate smiles, “I know you so well, in fact, that I know something about you that even _you_ don’t know about yourself.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re brave enough to do it,” she looks at Alex pointedly before she unlocks the doors, “So do it,” As Alex reaches for the door, Kate snaps her fingers, “Oh! I forgot to mention! Now that my divorce from Steve is finalized – my _god_ that took ages, we’re friends again now he and I – I’m ready to start dating again. So… if you see anyone…”

Alex grins, hand still on the door, “Actually, there _is_ this woman on set, member of the crew. I think she’d actually be really good for you,” Kate blinks and smiles sweetly; Alex laughs, “I’ll ask.”

“Thank you.”

Alex opens the door and climbs out, leaning down to speak into the car, “Thanks for the ride – you’re a good friend.”

Kate rolls her eyes, “Please. It’s not like it’s LAX.”

“No,” Alex smiles, “But you’ve done that, too.” She shuts the door behind her and waves as Kate slowly drives away.

Alex pulls her arms around herself, guarding against the cold chill of the Santa Monica pre-dawn air. It’s still dark out and Alex can hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore; she can just make out the whitecaps of the waves as they roll in.

A breeze moves by and Alex shudders, making her way towards the row of trailers on the edge of the parking lot nearest to the beach.

She’s grateful for the early morning shoot and Daniel’s insistence on being so secretive about filming locations and schedules. The very last thing she needs right now is a swarming press. That’s quite the last thing she needs ever, actually.

Alex pops by her trailer and drops her stuff off before heading to the small hair and makeup trailer set up at the end of the row. She pulls the door open and steps inside, reveling in the warmth it provides.

The door closes behind her and as she ascends the three steps into the trailer, she sees Maggie sprawled out on the tiny couch, her eyes closed. Alex is in the middle of trying to figure out if she’s sleeping or not when Maggie smiles.

“Mornin’, hon’,” she opens her eyes and sits up, looking at Alex, “Look at you,” she laughs, swinging her legs over the edge of the couch so she’s sitting, “Wearing normal clothes for once,” she stands up and motions for Alex to take a seat in the makeup chair, “What happened? You finally run out of carnivorous outfits trying to eat you alive?”

Alex glares at Maggie, but a soft smile spreads across her face so the glare loses its effect, “You’re not a morning person, then?”

Maggie snorts, “I tease because I love, but no. Certainly not. That strumpet Millie in wardrobe sure is though. Won’t shut _up_ in the mornings, always blathering on about this, that, and the other,” Maggie shakes her head in remembered exasperation as she readies her tools, “Now,” she fixes Alex with a meaningful look as she squeezes foundation on to a palette, “How are you holding up?”

She doesn’t mention the event by name, and Alex is grateful for that. But of course Maggie has heard – _everyone_ has heard.

Alex gives her a small smile, “Fine, I suppose.”

It’s not the truth and it’s not a lie, either. The calls haven’t stopped – in fact, it seems there’s been _more_ of them if this morning is anything to go by. After she’d talked to her family and friends this morning, she’d gone ahead and just turned the bloody thing off.

It’s been blessedly peaceful since. And even if the peace is technically a lie, it still comforts her.

Maggie smiles and nods as she begins applying Alex’s makeup. Thankfully, she lets it go.

They chat a bit while Maggie fiddles with Alex’s hair, but it’s lighthearted and exactly what Alex needs this morning. She’s so emotionally exhausted that she feels it in her _bones_.

When she’s done in hair and makeup, she heads back to her trailer with every intention of relaxing until it’s time to start filming. She changes into the clothes left by wardrobe and then sits on the small couch, tucking her legs up beneath her.

She refuses to turn her phone back on and her book is currently with her other things back at the house, ready to be packed up by a PA in just a few hours.

She’s a bit sad she missed the last night in the shared house, but she simply couldn’t take it. Even if Deni hadn’t been there, she didn’t have the energy to give anyone but herself her attention.

With a sigh, Alex’s eyes scan the trailer and she sees a stack of magazines sitting on a small table. They look well-worn from her vantage point, so she reasons that they’re probably safe.

She gets up and begins sifting through them, eyes quickly scanning the covers. She’s just about to make her selection when one catches her eye and she freezes.

It’s a copy of _The Hollywood Reporter_ – a fresh copy, apparently, because on the cover is a picture of Matt. He looks serious, intense, and _impossibly_ sexy. The white text stands out against the dark material of his shirt, a headline intended to draw a reader in.

_Matt Smith Speaks Out_

It’s a simple headline, but even so, it leaves little doubt in Alex’s mind what’s inside.

She doesn’t even pretend to herself that she’s not going to read it – it’s just _sitting here_ in her trailer and if it _is_ a coincidence, it’s a sign from the universe, and if it isn’t – well. She’s going to read it, regardless.

With shaking hands, she picks the magazine up, trying to ignore the intensity of Matt’s gaze from the front cover. His hazel eyes are bright and sharp and laser focused on _her_ , though she knows that’s an impossibility.

She settles in on the couch and quickly thumbs through the magazine, looking for where his interview begins. It’s near the middle of the magazine and Alex scans the pictures of him – some new, some old, one with her from a _Who_ promotional thing they did ages ago, when things were simpler between them. She doesn’t bother reading the quotes that have been pulled from the article to garner interest.

She’s always been interested in Matt.

Instead, heart in her throat, she starts reading at the very beginning.

_I’m at a small seaside café in Santa Monica, the tables perfectly positioned to see the surfers catching waves on the beach when Matt Smith arrives._

_He’s wearing skinny jeans, a faded t-shirt, and gold aviators which he slides off and tucks into the stretched out neck of his shirt when he sits down at the small table. His brown hair is free from product, a lock of it flopping into his eyes which he repeatedly pushes away throughout our interview together. His pale English skin stands out against the tan Los Angelenos that surround us._

_He looks every inch the sex symbol his roles in America have made him out to be. That, or a rock star._

_When I ask him about this, he smiles almost bashfully, “Me?” He shakes his head, “I’m just a normal bloke. Not a sex symbol or rock star.”_

_Which is probably part of the appeal. He’s a good looking man, but it’s not in the way you see every day. It’s not conventional by any standard._

_“My mates would make fun of me looks,” He explains, his accent still thick despite having called Los Angeles home for over two years now, “So I always think someone is taking the piss when they say something like that.”_

_I laugh at the expression and assure him that I’m not ‘taking the piss.’_

_Born in Northampton, a town about sixty miles outside of London, Smith had his sights set on a soccer career. (“It’s_ football _,” he reminds me). But a back injury during his youth revealed an underlying back condition that ended that dream._

_“It was very hard,” He explains, shielding his eyes from the setting Santa Monica sun, “That was my life. Who I was. It was very hard, yes,” He leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest, “But I found a different dream.”_

_His teacher, as it turns out, got him into drama, a path which he steadily refused at first._

_“I just didn’t show up,” He grins, and it’s easy to see why so many remark on his boyish charm, “Eventually, I did. And thank god for that,” He grins again, “Or someone, anyway.”_

_Thank someone, indeed._

_The former Eleventh Doctor on one of the U.K.’s most familiar and popular shows (and which has gained steam even in the U.S. over the last several years), has taken America a bit by storm._

_He seems surprised by that characterization, “Have I?” He shrugs, “It feels more like a summer rain, really.”_

_I explain that we don’t really get those here in Los Angeles._

_Whatever you want to call it, Matt Smith is a popular commodity on this side of the pond right now. He’s starring as the lead role in powerhouse director/writer/jack-of-all-trades Daniel DeLuca’s HBO show that is setting records and breaking boundaries._

_“I’m happy to even be a part of it,” Matt says, smiling, “It’s been a great experience and I’d love to work with Daniel in the future.”_

_A future that as of recently won’t include his co-star and fellow Brit, Deni Christmas. The two had been dating for the past several months but recently split and it’s become quite acrimonious._

_“My relationship with Deni is over. I think that’s been made quite clear.” Matt chuckles dryly, and I see his jaw clench a little, my first glimpse of the perhaps not so affable side to Matt Smith._

_Rumors have been swirling since Ms. Christmas spoke out accusing Smith of carrying on a relationship with another co-star and fellow Brit, Alex Kingston._

_I approach the subject with caution, even though I’ve been told by my editor that this is the reason Matt wanted to sit down with me today in the first place. When asked about the rumors that he and Kingston were sleeping together in the shared house in the Hollywood Hills that DeLuca rented for the cast, Matt shakes his head._

_“Categorically untrue,” Matt’s jaw clenches again, “Deni’s anger has a place. Towards the end of our relationship I wasn’t fully invested, and I should have made that clear. But the spreading of blatant lies about someone I’m fond of is unnecessary and something I simply cannot allow.”_

_Matt speaks firmly and I’m reminded of the press clips we were sent ahead of season two of his current show. He is boyishly charming, yes, but he can also be a formidable presence._

_Still, I push to clarify – I ask him point blank if the rumors of any type of romantic relationship between he and Miss Kingston are untrue._

_Matt nods, “They are untrue,” He confirms, with no hint of his previous anger, “But not by my choice.”_

_The shock must show on my face because Matt laughs lightly, and I don’t have time to wonder if he just confessed what I think he did._

_“Alex Kingston is one of the kindest, funniest, sexiest women I’ve ever met. She is generous in every sense of the word and she does not deserve anything Deni Christmas has said about her and she certainly doesn’t deserve anything those rags masquerading as papers have printed about her. And nearly everyone on Twitter can go to bloody hell,” He shakes his head, “I would be_ lucky _to be with Alex Kingston if she wanted me, not the other way around. And anyone who insinuates otherwise is out of their bloody mind_.”

_His tone and the stony look on his face leave no doubt that this topic is at a close. Much like the seaside café we’re sitting at where employees have started to sweep the patio around us, perhaps a subtle hint in case we are unaware that they close at 4pm._

_With only time for a few more questions, I choose them wisely._

_Matt Smith has several projects lined up after his series ends next year. He envisions himself staying in America, at least for the time being._

_And what of the future?_

_Matt smiles, a slow grin spreading across his face and I’m left wondering if I’m being left out of a secret: “I’m going to follow my heart – stop trying to talk it out of the things it wants, even if no one else can understand them. I’m going to trust that_ whatever _path my heart decides to take me down, even if it’s scary and unknown,” He smiles, and this time I’m_ certain _I’m being left out of a secret, “It’s for the best.”_

Alex’s hands are shaking as she finishes reading, the magazine clutched tightly between her fingers. Her heart is still in her throat at the same time it beats wildly in her chest.

Somehow, she isn’t crying even though her eyes feel wet. She’s thankful for it, though, not wanting to explain to Maggie exactly why her makeup is running down her face and needs to be redone. Maggie would know anyway, of course, but she’d still rather not explain it.

_Matt_. He hadn’t listened to her. She’d asked him not to do anything drastic – to let the press have her, instead, but he hadn’t listened. _Of course_ he hadn’t listened. She hadn’t expected him to, but part of her still hoped that he would – that she could _save him_ from this. From her.

A PA knocks on her trailer door startling her as he lets her know that she has five minutes until she’s required on set. With a sigh, she stands and looks in the tiny mirror by the door.

Her eyes are watery, her cheeks are flushed, and she thinks for a moment that she doesn’t recognize herself. She looks the same, but changed somehow – different, like when the night meets the morning.

She leaves her trailer and steps into the cool Santa Monica morning air. She makes her way along the concrete path, marveling at the emptiness of the pier. Years in Los Angeles and she’s never seen it like this – changed; different too, even in its utter familiarity.

The boards creak and groan under her feet as she makes her way towards the end of the pier, past the empty rollercoaster and shut-down arcade, slightly eerie in its silence.

The closer she gets to the end, the more she can make out figures standing at the edge of the pier. As the dim filming lights kick on, she can see Jack and Daniel chatting, arms waving animatedly as they discuss the impending scene and shots.

When she reaches the end of the pier, Daniel greets her, his eyes asking after her. She smiles and nods in answer because she _is_ – she is okay, despite it all.

“Three minutes until speed,” Daniel explains, stepping away.

The sun has begun to ascend and the sky is filled with a faint colorful light – soft hues that seem to soften everything. The light reflects off the water and the beauty is striking, the water rippling beneath the colors.

Jack leans against the railing, facing the water, a small smile on his face as he looks out at the ocean. Alex stands next to him, a stationary camera extending from the end of the pier between them. They’re in their places, feet on the taped Xs, but they both let the moments pass in silence, neither speaking.

There is both too much and not enough to say before the sun comes up. So, they listen to the gentle lapping of the water against the supports of the pier. The ocean scent invades their nostrils as seagulls cry loudly overhead. They’ll need to do ADR later, surely, but it is so atmospheric, so apropos for their characters’ poignant and nostalgic goodbye that Alex can’t be bothered by that.

Instead, she thinks of the barnacles clinging to the pier – thinks of their unwillingness, their inability to change – to let go – and how some of them may die for it, someday. While others, still, will survive.

By the time places are called and film is rolling, Alex is in a heavy headspace.

She and Jack film their scene – and then again and again, take after take until the sun has completely risen. It’s an emotional catharsis for both characters. It’s an angry, sad, loving goodbye and Alex knows by now all too well how goodbyes can be all of these things.

By the time Daniel calls cut on the sixth take, it’s like they’ve both been thoroughly through the wringer.

“Just a few more shots, hang tight,” Daniel steps behind the camera to watch playback.

Despite the film crew milling around, it feels like she and Jack are all alone.

Jack continues staring out at the water, the ghost of a smile still on his lips, “Did you read it?”

Alex inhales a small gasp; the magazine in her trailer hadn’t been a coincidence then, “Did you…?” She turns to look at him, the soft morning light illuminating his face.

Jack nods, leaning down and looking at the water before he turns to look at her, “When you told me you were stepping away from your phone, I figured you wouldn’t read it.”

“And you… _wanted_ me to read it?”

“ _Wanted_ is a bit strong,” he chuckles, “But I knew you needed to read it, anyway. Today. This morning.”

Alex stays silent and Jack fixes her with a knowing gaze, so full of longing and what looks like regret that it nearly takes her breath away.

“I know I’ve lost here, Alex,” his voice is resolute, but still sad.

She starts to tell him that it’s not a competition, but just then Daniel calls for places and filming begins again. It’s a few establishing shots of them looking silently out at the water, no dialogue required.

Competition or not, Alex knows that Jack is right. Even if she can’t bring herself to be with Matt, she can’t be with Jack, either. Her heart’s reaction to Matt’s interview proved that much, at least.

She’s too much in love with Matt, no matter what she decides to do about it, to be fair to Jack.

And Jack is a good man – she thinks he’s one of the best she’s met. He deserves more – deserves better than someone who is still in love with someone else. And she thinks she could grow to love Jack – thinks parts of her heart are walking down that road already, but she has to call them back because it’s not fair to either of them.

When Daniel cuts and wraps the scene, she and Jack don’t move. They just stand there, staring out at the horizon.

Alex speaks as though there were no interruption, “If things were different…” Tears lick at the back of her eyes because _if_ they were, she could see herself building a life with Jack. Building a love with him.

“But they’re not.” It isn’t a question and he offers a sad smile.

She returns it, feeling the sadness down to her bones, “No,” she agrees, “They’re not.”

Jack nods once, turning to see Matt where he sits now next to Doug and Andres on a bench by the empty arcade.

“He’s a lucky guy,” he inclines his head, indicating Matt, “At least it looks like he knows it.”

“Jack, I’m not… I haven’t…” she wants to say _decided_ , but she trails off, unable to speak her indecision in the face of a man who is graciously walking away from her because of it.

“I know,” Jack whispers quietly and Alex is struck by just how well he knows her and in such a short amount of time. He’s paid attention, and it makes her feel something she hasn’t felt in a long time, but can’t quite place. He’s been more than she bargained for, Jack Varley.

God, _if_ things were different.

Jack brings his hand to her chin, his thumb swiping gently over her flesh as he bends his head and kisses her softly on the mouth– a sweet, tender goodbye – and her heart almost breaks but for the fact that it belongs entirely to someone else. Has for years now.

When the kiss is over, Jack pulls back and smiles at her, his fingers tracing up her jaw to tuck a curl back behind her ear.

“It’s been a pleasure, Alex,” Jack whispers, voice soft, “More than you know.”

“Jack…” she whispers his name, her eyes searching his, willing him to understand that it’s been the same for her. That he’s helped her remember things she thought she’d lost long ago. When he nods slightly in recognition, she smiles, “Thank you,” And it’s for more than just this moment.

“You shouldn’t have to thank someone for the truth,” he echoes his words from a few weeks ago and then smiles, stepping away from her as the smile turns sad, wistful.

Jack turns and walks down the pier, the boards creaking under his weight and Alex watches him go – he does not look back until he is halfway down. Finding her staring, he gives her a little wave which she returns, sadness and gratefulness dancing through her veins.

In a life punctuated with carelessness from men, she will always be thankful for how Jack treated her. With the respect of a man who wanted something – wanted _her_ – but who never felt entitled to it. He left it up to her.

He turns again and walks down the pier towards the small crowd of people gathering to see what’s being filmed at the famed Santa Monica pier. She loses sight of him, and the goodbye weighs heavy on her heart.

Alex turns back to look at the water, her mind mulling everything over, her mind turning over and over on itself. She hears the words of Matt’s interview echoing in her head, but the refrain isn’t the only thing she hears. She hears the other articles, too – hears every mean and nasty thing they’ve said about her. About _Matt_. She can’t drown them out – they scream at her, making so much noise she can scarcely hear anything else, anything good.

She’s dealt with what the tabloids have said about her for years, but to see what they’re saying about Matt and _because of her_ makes her remember in the most painful way why she left; why she _couldn’t_ stay that morning four years ago.

Alex hears again the gentle creak of the wood planks and she knows it’s him before he even speaks – before he’s even standing next to her.

“Hello, darling,” her voice surprises her with its steadiness – it feels anything but in her mouth.

“Hello,” Matt moves to stand next to her and even though she doesn’t turn to look, she can hear the smile in his voice, “You _do_ always know it’s me.”

“Always,” she agrees; she tries but fails to keep the sadness out of her voice. She will always know it’s him – it will always _be_ him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, when he’s standing next to her.

Alex’s eyes drift over the water, the sun’s light shining over the choppy ocean, “It really is.”

Matt smiles, “The ocean too, I guess.”

Alex rolls her eyes and he grins at her, a lock of hair falling over his eye. She resists the urge to reach out and push it back.

“You read it,” his voice is serious now and he watches her face intently, trying to gauge her reaction.

Alex nods once, staring at him, “I did,” she confirms, “Thank you, Matt. You… didn’t have to do that, darling, but… thank you.”

Still watching her intently, Matt shakes his head, “Course I did. Course I had to,” he says it determinedly, like he didn’t have any other option.

But he did. He could have thrown her to the wolves and she’d have gone to them willingly for him. But he hadn’t even considered that as a viable option and how is she supposed to stand on this stupid pier and _not love him_?

After a long moment of silence, Matt considers her, eyes searching her face.

“Does he make you happy?” He asks the question softly, and Alex can barely hear it over the sound of the waves crashing in the distance.

“Matt…”

“Does he make you happy, Alex?”

She sighs – Matt doesn’t know that what he just saw from his perch on the bench was goodbye, “He could have done. Before.”

Matt stares at her, “Before what?”

“Before _you_ , you idiot.”

The words don’t sound harsh from her lips – they sound desperate and wanting because he has ruined her for all other men and she should hate him for that. But she doesn’t – not even close.

Matt leans forward, his arms resting on the railing of the pier as he stares at her, eyes boring into hers, “Alex, does this mean…?” His voice is serious, heavy, and his expression is guarded and she doesn’t even realize why until his question hits her and she realizes what he’s asking.

The moment she does realize it, fear seizes her heart and in that moment she knows that Kate is wrong. She isn’t brave enough to make this decision, this choice.

“I can’t…” There are tears in her eyes and in her voice, and she can’t make it past those two words.

But, she _can’t._ There have been too many heartbreaks, too many silences that she almost did not survive. And she knows another one might just kill her – might just bring her to her knees, because love ending when it was meant to last is the most painful thing she’s ever known. And it’s never been her choice – he will leave, and it will break her, and she _can’t_.

Matt doesn’t call her a coward, even though she is. He just nods, looking resigned and yet still somehow resolute and hopeful. She doesn’t understand – can’t even begin to – she can’t see from his side of love, not anymore. She’s been too long on the other side – the side where it hurts, where people lie, cheat, and _hurt_ each other on purpose.

“Okay, Alex,” he whispers, nodding, “It’s okay,” his tone is sweet, careful, and the gentleness of it springs tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, even though it’s not enough. Not _nearly_ enough.

Matt smiles, “I know.”

Daniel calls Matt’s name, breaking the moment, and Matt waves back in acknowledgement. He backs away from her slowly, eyes on hers, “It’s okay, Alex,” He smiles gently at her, reassuringly, “I understand, love.”

At the term of endearment, she wants to burst into tears because _she_ doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand any of it except the fear lodged in her heart, ever-present and stifling; the fear she can’t seem to dislodge, the fear that she apparently chooses over everything else in her life.

And as she watches Matt walk down the pier to join Daniel, she thinks she will never understand.

Alex spends the rest of the day in her trailer as one by one the rest of the cast finishes filming. Matt doesn’t stop by to say goodbye, and she can’t blame him. Goodbye hurts.

She tries to sleep, but it does not work. She can only see Matt’s face in her head, can only see him relinquishing control over to her – over to her _fear_ , because he loves her that much and even _that_ frightens her.

She manages to eat a little, and by the time the sun goes down and it’s time to film her solo scene on the beach, she has spent so long in her own head that she feels as though she might go mad from it, from her thoughts strangling her, whispering in her ear.

As she sits on the sand, Daniel directing her, she feels like she’s walked hand-in-hand with all of her fears, knows them intimately and by name more than she ever has before.

When Daniel cuts, she doesn’t move. Alex stays seated on the beach, staring out at the water but not really _seeing_. Like so much of her life these days.

Daniel settles in next to her in the sand, staring out at the water, “Thanks for your work this season, Alex,” he smiles, “For your openness and willingness to grow and change. For your bravery.”

Alex smiles because she’s not any of those things outside of a script, “Thank you, Daniel,” she chuckles, shaking her head, “It’s been an experience, that’s for sure.”

Daniel laughs then, too, shaking his head and nudging her leg with his knee, “Next season?”

“Can’t wait,” And despite the unorthodox filming methods, the last minute rewrites, she finds that it’s true. She loves this character – this opportunity.

Daniel stands up, shoes covered in sand, and smiles down at her, “Good,” With that, he walks back up the beach, leaving Alex by herself again, save the few members of crew still milling about.

As they continue packing up around her, Alex sits in the sand, knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

She stares at the moon – crescent shaped tonight and remembers how when she was a little girl she used to think that there was a man in there because she could see his face sometimes. She wonders if that was the beginning of her tendency to see things that aren’t there, to ignore the things that are.

Because sometimes she can still see him – the man in the moon; when she does, she imagines him watching her as she goes about her life– she imagines him laughing, shaking his head. Sometimes, she imagines, crying.

And maybe the tide is a woman.

Or maybe the moon is just a reflective satellite and there is gravity and she should stop being so bloody scared of everything all the time. Should stop wearing her fear like a blanket that can protect her because nothing can. Except maybe people, if she lets them. If she believes in them enough, the way she used to believe in the man in the moon. The way she still believes in him on good days, sometimes on bad ones.

And what had anyone ever done to her that the moon had not?

Finally, after a chill moves in on a light wind, she stands and brushes the sand from the back of her jeans. She makes her way to her trailer, not turning back to look at the ocean, though she can hear it as well as she can hear the screams from the people on the rollercoaster. She passes by the arcade with its blinking lights and smiling people, but she doesn’t look at that either.

Once she’s in her trailer, she changes into the clothes she’d borrowed from Kate. As she pulls the sweater over her head and untucks her hair, Matt’s face stares at her from the cover of _The Hollywood Reporter_.

Alex grabs her purse and switches on her cell phone, ignoring every single notification that comes through. She doesn’t even count how many there are. She just walks down a fairly quiet street beyond the pier and opens her Uber app.

As she waits for her ride, she thinks about the hotel room in Westwood, empty except for her things deposited by a PA earlier in the day.

Alex thinks about where she _wants_ to go, and about where she _has_ to go – and, she knows, not just for herself. But for Matt, too.

It was _never_ just about her. None of anything that ever happened between them was – and especially not her leaving in the morning light.

The ocean looks black through the window of the sedan of a fairly chatty Uber driver as they amble down back streets heading towards the only destination her heart can bear to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farewell, Jack. You'll never know how many times I had to remind myself that this wasn't, at its heart, a Jack/Alex story.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d rejected him, again, and he’d be a liar if he said it didn’t hurt. It did. It still does as he sits and stares at the city. He imagines it always will because he loves her. Every time he thinks he knows just how much, he uncovers another layer, another depth to his affection for her.
> 
> And how can he claim he loves her if he’s not willing to do what she asks? To let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This morning, with her, having coffee." -Johnny Cash, when asked for his definition of paradise. 
> 
> This chapter gets a little (okay, a lot) NSFW, so skip over that bit if it's not your thing.

Matt’s flat is empty and cold – it feels uninhabited, likely because it has been for weeks now.

He drops his bags right inside the door and wonders if this small flat will ever feel like home. He locks the door behind him and tosses his keys on the table next to the door.

Flicking on his old gas wall heater, he flops on the couch, staring out at the city’s blinking lights. Perhaps he _should_ buy a house here. He hadn’t wanted the commitment, had been scared of the permanence. He always had been, really, scared of the enormity of something like that – of something like _forever_ or even _thirty years, fixed_.

Well. Except once.

As the heater groans and clicks to life, metal creaking and squeaking under the pressure of the heat, Matt thinks about Alex this morning on the pier.

She’d looked so beautiful – morning sunlight reflecting on her hair, tears glistening in her eyes. Beautiful even in her sadness, though he always did hate to see her cry.

She’d rejected him, again, and he’d be a liar if he said it didn’t hurt. It did. It still does as he sits and stares at the city. He imagines it always will because he _loves_ her. Every time he thinks he knows just how _much_ , he uncovers another layer, another depth to his affection for her.

And how can he claim he loves her if he’s not willing to do what she asks? To let her go.

So it hurts – but somehow, this time the pain is lessened by the fact that he said what he needed to say. There is a release in confession, and he’d done that this time – to Alex, and to a certain extent, the world.

His interview and op-eds about his interview are everywhere right now and he’s ignored most and fielded only some calls about it. The tone of what’s being said about Alex has shifted, though not entirely, but enough that it’s clear that they will both eventually come out of this faux scandal relatively unscathed.

Matt sighs, picking up his phone and a throw blanket from the end of his couch. He wraps himself in the knit fabric to stave off the chill in the air of his apartment. He opens an app and orders some takeaway from his favorite spot just a few blocks away. He usually likes to dine in, but he doesn’t have the energy tonight.

He doesn’t have the energy for much except his couch and the telly.

After he’d wrapped, he’d gone on an audition, taken a couple of meetings, but he’d done it all in the haze of a broken heart. He should have cared more about the audition – it is a great part, honestly – but it’s amazing how little he cares about a _job_ in the face of losing Alex. Really and properly losing her this time.

Because Matt can’t delude himself any longer – he _has_ lost her, but not to Jack. He can’t tell right now if that makes it better or worse, the losing.

But even in the face of a life without her – or, at least, a life without her as he wants her – he can’t even bring himself to blame her. He loves her too much.

He can’t blame her for being scared, for not wanting to take a chance because every chance she’d taken – every romantic chance, anyway – had hurt her. They’d ended in heartbreak and scars, so many of which were not healed over yet, and he didn’t understand. Couldn’t, until today.

Matt knows now what heartbreak – _true_ heartbreak – feels like.

Alex doesn’t know, can’t believe, that she’s safe in his hands, that she always will be. And maybe that’s his fault, in the end. Maybe there’s more he could have done.

Maybe he will spend the rest of his life bearing the scars of ‘never’ and ‘maybe’; maybe they will be branded into his skin, all the things he should have done to keep her – to convince her.

The sky outside is dark, and it’s quiet in his flat, an anomaly for a day like today. Usually, a season wrap is cause for celebration. Usually, he goes out with the cast or at least with his mates. Drinks bad beer in American bars with bad lighting and flirty women, but he can’t do that tonight. There’s nothing to celebrate, only to mourn.

And there is forever only _one_ flirty woman on his mind.

He doesn’t see that changing. They’ll remain friends like he promised her, he’ll make sure of it. Maybe someday he’ll even meet someone else. God help him, maybe Alex will, but he knows even when he is old and grey, even if he has a family of his own, he will _always_ think about Alex.

About he and Alex and what could have been, if only…

It will forever be the saddest story he knows. The saddest story he will never tell. He’ll take it to the grave, this story – _their_ story – along with his love for her.

His phone rings and it’s one of his best and oldest mates Jase calling. Matt had finally broken down and told him about everything last night – bits and pieces, anyway; the general gist, not specifics.

Matt answers and pulls the phone up to his ear, “Hey, mate.”

“Did you get the girl?” Jase never has wasted much time.

Matt can’t contort his face into even a half-hearted smile, “No.”

“Try again.” Jase suggests.

Matt wants to spend his _life_ trying again, but he can’t lose her altogether and as much as he loves her, he respects her.

“Nah,” Matt shakes his head, “Her mind’s made up,” At Jase’s continued prodding, Matt sighs, “I’m telling you, mate. It’s over. She can’t… she can’t go there with me. Maybe not with anyone, I don’t know.”

Jase is in the middle of a heartfelt speech which Matt is only half listening to when there is a soft knock on the door of his flat.

“Food’s here,” Matt says into the phone, cutting Jase off. He tosses his blanket from his lap, “Speak to you later,” he hangs up and tosses his phone on top of the blanket, grateful for the silence.

Maneuvering around the couch, he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls the door open as he digs some cash out for a tip. He wrenches a few bills from the fold, clutching them in his hand as he finally looks up.

And his heart leaps into his throat because where he was expecting an aloof teenage delivery boy stands Alex Kingston.

“You’re not pizza.”

Alex furrows her brow and her curls fall down around her shoulders, the pale blue of the sweater she wears bringing out her eyes. Alex Kingston is in his hallway in worn blue jeans that are not her own and in the soft light illuminating his hallway, he’s certain he’s never seen her look so sodding gorgeous or like such a unique representation of every ounce of hope he’s ever had.

“No, I’m not,” she tilts her head to the side.

Still in shock, Matt holds open the door, “Come in,” he clears his throat, “Uh, do you want to come in?”

Alex smiles at him and he can’t think – can’t do anything but _feel_ and ask the same question in his head over and over again: _why is she here_?

“Thank you,” she steps past him into his flat and she smells like the ocean – like saltwater and summer days and his heart somersaults in his chest.

“Why are you here?” He doesn’t mean to ask, but it tumbles out of him. She looks a bit taken aback and he tries to smile, “Sorry, just… Why are you here?”

He closes the door of his flat behind him, leaning against it for support. He’s not entirely sure he can stand on his own.

Matt tries to keep his hope in check, she could be here for any number of reasons that won’t make him happy.

“I was on my way to my hotel and I just… couldn’t go there. Maybe I should have, but I just…”

“You’re exactly where you belong. I think we _both_ know that, Kingston.”

Alex doesn’t speak for a long moment and her eyes are wet as she watches him; Matt doesn’t move, too afraid of scaring her, of stopping whatever this is in its tracks.

“Is my heart safe with you, Matt?”

He can hear the tears in her voice and he’s never been good at watching her cry.

“You know it is. Don’t you?” Matt watches as she presses her eyes shut – and it’s enough for him, “Is mine?” The heart in question slams in his chest, its rhythm fast and wanting.

Alex opens her eyes, her blue-green eyes boring into his, “Yes.” She whispers it, nodding, “Yes, Matt, and I’m – I want you.”

“For so long, Alex,” he shakes his head, his own eyes wet now, “I’ve wanted to hear that from you for so long.” Matt’s hand snakes out and wraps around her waist.

He tugs, pulling her flush against him, her chest against his. Her heart is beating as quickly as his and he drops his other hand to her waist too, tucking his index finger through her belt loop. He tugs on it gently until there is no space between them.

Matt’s eyes search her face, watching in fascination and wonder as her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips.

He leans his head down, “Don’t run.”

She doesn’t break eye contact with him as she lightly shakes her head, “Not from this,” she swallows, and he sees the bravery in her eyes; still Alex, but just different enough, “Not from you. Not ever again.”

Matt feels the emotion overwhelm him and he smiles, tears clouding his voice as he speaks, “Only _with me_ from now on.”

Alex nods, drawing her lip into her mouth. Matt’s hand slides up her spine and his fingers slip into her hair, fisting loosely into her curls.

He waits only a second, only a heartbeat, staring at her with everything he feels for her written on his face before his mouth covers hers.

Alex makes a small noise in the back of her throat – somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, and her lips respond to his immediately. Her hands circle around his neck as she kisses him, her tongue hungrily dipping into his mouth.

She tastes like coffee and chamomile. She tastes like Alex, like his _heart_ , and he moves his hand from her belt loop to her lower back, pressing her tightly into him, fingers of his other hand resting against her scalp.

He can scarcely believe it, can scarcely believe Alex Kingston is kissing him in his tiny flat in Hollywood.

Matt smiles into the kiss before deepening it, his tongue chasing hers into her mouth. She moans against his lips and his breath catches in his throat.

How _sexy_ that sound is – how _much_ he missed it.

His thumb is caressing circles into her lower back when a knock on his door startles both of them. They pull away from each other, both flushed with desire and breathing hard.

They laugh, separating a bit as Matt pulls the door open. He doesn’t take his eyes off Alex as he digs the bills out of his pocket where he’d hastily stuffed them earlier. The kid thanks him and Matt takes the pizza, mumbling his own thanks back, eyes still trained on Alex as he closes the door with his foot.

Matt steps forward and tosses the pizza box on his coffee table before turning to Alex again, hunger in his eyes.

“Darling, I’ve interrupted your dinner,” her eyes are wide and innocent, but she’s wearing the hint of a smirk.

“No,” Matt shakes his head, stalking forward and then walking her back until her back is against the door, “I rather think my dinner interrupted you,” he pins her against the door, arms on either side of her head as he looks her up and down, clear desire in his gaze.

Alex grins a split second before Matt kisses her – it’s a hard, bruising kiss, like he’s trying to make sure she’s real. That she is really standing in his flat right now, _yes_ on her tongue along with the taste of him instead of no.

When he’s satisfied that she is, he slows the kiss down, gently nipping at her bottom lip as she smiles and kisses him back slowly, languidly, like they have world enough and time.

His hands trace up her sides and he pushes the hem of her sweater up, pulling back to watch as the creamy expanse of her flesh is slowly revealed to him. Eyes never leaving his, she slowly raises her hands over her head.

Smiling, Matt pushes her sweater up, up, up until he pulls it off over her head and tosses it over his shoulder. He glances down and sees she’s not wearing a bra and he smirks.

Eyes on hers again, he dips his head to take a nipple into his mouth, smirking around the hardened bud when she gasps and drops her hands to his hair, arching her back and thrusting herself further into his mouth. He watches her face as he teases one nipple, nipping with his teeth before moving his head to suck on the other.

His fingers move to roll the neglected nipple between them as he tugs on the one in his mouth with his teeth. The sounds Alex makes are sensual and gorgeous, just like she is, and when she finally grips his head and drags his face back up to her mouth, he smiles before kissing her deeply.

Alex’s hands work at his shirt and she finally rips it over his head, pressing her bare chest into his as she kisses him, tongue running over every inch of his mouth.

Matt pulls her away from the door, leading her down the hall towards his bedroom.

They claw at each other’s clothes, undoing buttons and zippers, pausing only to peel their clothes off so by the time they make it to Matt’s bedroom they’re completely naked.

They tumble onto the bed in a mass of limbs, kissing and touching each other. Matt’s hands roam over Alex’s body, his long fingers finally moving to dip between her legs.

Alex gasps into his mouth, arching off the bed as her hands clutch at his biceps.

Matt’s tongue trails down her body and he murmurs against the soft skin of her stomach, “You’re so wet, love,” sliding a long finger slowly into her.

He kisses down the rest of her body before he removes his finger and slides to his knees at the end of the bed. Grabbing her knees, he pulls Alex forward until she’s at the edge of the bed. He bends Alex’s legs, positioning her so her feet are flat on the bed and she is completely open to him.

And _god_ he always wants her like this.

His eyes dart up to hers and she is watching him with such hunger, such amazement, such _love_ that he grins as he lowers his mouth to taste her.

His tongue delves into her and her taste ripples across his tongue, bright and distinct and just as he’d remembered. He buries his face in her, licking her greedily as she keens above him, writhing on the bed as she fists her hands in his hair.

Her moans and whimpers fill the room and he reaches one hand down to grip himself. His lips move against her and she invades every single one of his senses, and he lets her willingly; how he has _longed_ for this again.

Matt pulls back, chin slick and looks up at Alex: arms up, now clutching his sheets in her hands. Her hips lift in a silent demand and Matt has been too long without her to deny her – there will be plenty of time for teasing later. He dips his head back down to her cunt and kisses her again, but slowly this time.

His tongue glides over her skin before sliding inside of her – he savors her, kissing her slowly, languidly before his mouth moves back up to her clit and he replaces his tongue with his fingers – sliding first one and then two into her, all the way to his last knuckle.

Alex gasps and writhes and Matt smiles against her as her hand reaches down for his, currently across her abdomen. She clutches at his hand and he curls his fingers inside of her as her fingers latch on to his, interlacing them and bringing their hands down by her side.

He’s _holding her hand_ while his face is buried in her cunt and it’s such a lovely combination of sexy and sweet that he can’t remember ever feeling his heart flutter like this with his face between someone’s legs.

“Matt,” she gasps, hips bucking up and into his mouth, “I need…” she whispers, “I need…”

“Mm, what do you need love?” He asks, barely lifting his mouth as his fingers continue their work.

“You – god, Matt, I need you.”

“Where?” The word is muffled.

“Inside… but, _god_ ,” she moans as Matt’s tongue flicks rapidly over her clit, “I want you – god, in my mouth, Matt. Right now.”

Matt freezes his mouth against her as he looks at her face. Her curls are mussed from his hands in them earlier and her own, now, tugging at her hair in pleasure.

Matt grins as he pulls away from her. He crawls up the bed planting spontaneous kisses along her stomach, sternum, breast as he goes before he lies down next to her on the bed.

Alex smiles at him, adjusting herself up and next to him. She quirks her eyebrow in question and Matt nods, grin still plastered on his face because _absolutely, yes_ – he wants Alex Kingston to straddle his face.

And then she does – she swings a leg over his torso and he can feel her breasts against his abdomen as she balances herself on her forearms, planted on either side of his hips, her knees holding her just out of his mouth’s reach. Matt’s hands move to her hips and he tugs her down over his mouth.

He kisses her and she gasps, then breathes out hard as his tongue laps at her. Matt feels her breath on his cock and he closes his eyes.

Alex lowers her head, her curls tickling the tops of his thighs. His body tenses in anticipation, his mouth still working against her.

Without warning, her small warm hand encircles his base and her hot wet mouth descends over him. He moans into her cunt and he feels Alex smile around his cock.

He keeps licking her, but it’s difficult not to be distracted by her mouth. She slides all the way down, her tongue swirling around him as she takes him in as far as she can, her hand working the rest of him. His hips buck into her mouth as he leans up to lick at her clit.

As his tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, Alex moans around his length and he feels it in his _blood_. She is too bloody good with her mouth.

“Alex, love,” he speaks against her, his words muffled. She doesn’t stop, just keeps working him with her hand and her mouth and if she doesn’t stop soon, he is bloody well going to come in her mouth, and he doesn’t want that for their first time in four years.

Matt reluctantly tears his mouth from her and reaches up and around, tugging lightly on her hair, “Alex, sweetheart, you have to stop,” she sucks him harder and he cries out, pulling a bit more roughly on her hair, “Stop, or I’m going to come.”

Alex releases him with a sigh, “That was the intent, darling.”

“I want to be inside you when I do that – want to feel you wrapped around me.”

Alex makes to move off of him and Matt grips her by her thighs and repositions his head, “No, I’m not quite done with you like this yet,” he whispers, tongue dragging slowly along her length.

He likes this angle, it allows him to fully bury his face in her – allows him to surround himself with her taste, her scent. Allows him to forget the four years he spent without her.

Alex stills, hand still gripping the base of his cock. Her tongue darts out and trails along his length, swirling around his tip and back down again. It’s still hot as hell and her tongue still feels incredible and maddening, but it’s teasing enough that he won’t come.

Satisfied, Matt buries his head in her again, mouth moving over her cunt. She rocks her hips back, pressing herself into his face and he moans in approval, loving that he’s making her feel so good.

Alex’s tongue stutters along his cock and Matt’s fingers dig into her hips, holding her against him as his tongue frantically works her clit.

“Yes, Matt,” she whimpers, her breath hot against his cock, “Yes, yes, yes, I’m going to… don’t stop…”

Matt moans against her – he’s not going to stop, he’s not _ever_ going to stop tasting her, not ever again.

He pauses his ministrations to murmur, “Come for me, Alex,” and then he sets back to licking her intently.

Alex rocks back against his face again and her moans grow more and more desperate. It’s been four years since he heard that sound for real, but he’s dreamt of it damn near nightly, so he knows what it means. Knows Alex is so close to orgasm and he licks her harder, alternating a lick with a light suck on her clit.

Her tongue moves erratically against his cock and when he sucks on her clit hard and moans at the feel of her tongue against him, Alex comes, her mouth pressed flush against his cock.

Matt can feel the vibrations of her moans against him but he concentrates on Alex, licking her through her orgasm as her thighs quiver and shake with her pleasure.

He keeps licking her gently until her tongue starts lazily running along his rock hard length again. After one final open-mouthed kiss to her cunt, he lifts her leg and she rolls off of him, repositioning herself so she’s next to him on the bed.

Matt grins at her and then props himself up on his elbow, leaning over her. He kisses her softly and Alex moans into his mouth, slipping her tongue into his mouth and deepening the kiss.

“Matt,” she whispers, hand trailing down and gripping his length, “I need you,” she pumps her hand up and down his length.

He bucks into her hand before his fingers curl around her wrist, effectively stopping her motion.

Alex whines in the back of her throat – a protest – and Matt chuckles, his finger caressing the back of her hand softly.

Matt lifts his head and brings his mouth to her ear so he can speak inside of it, “I want you slow and sweet tonight, love. I want to forget every day, every single minute we were apart.”

Alex’s grip on his cock loosens and she nods, her free hand trailing slowly up his spine until it rests on the nape of his neck. He shudders as his hand dips between her legs.

Matt slides a finger inside of her, pulling his face away so he can watch her. Her eyes flutter as they meet his and he adds a second finger, feeling her stretch to accommodate him.

“Condom?” She grits the word out and Matt pumps his fingers inside of her.

He’d just been tested and he always used protection with Deni; he longs to feel Alex’s wet heat around his bare cock but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable – just being inside her again will be enough.

He reaches to the bedside table and pulls a condom out with one hand, tearing the packet carefully with his teeth. He goes to remove his fingers from her so he can roll it on, but Alex’s hands stop him.

“Are you clean?” She asks, and Matt drops the condom, moving one hand to roll her nipple between his fingers, smiling when she arches off the bed and into his touch.

“Yes,” he nods, curling his fingers still buried in her cunt.

Alex swears and her hips buck, “I want to _feel_ you, darling,” she whispers, and Matt bends his head to gently kiss her lips.

“You’re sure?”

Alex nods, biting her lip, and _Jesus Christ_ , he’s never seen anything so sexy in his life.

Matt withdraws his fingers from within her and Alex moans at the loss, but he immediately positions himself over her and she spreads her legs to grant him better access.

Matt can feel the heat of her as his tip nudges her entrance and he wants to bury himself in her, wants to drive into her, to _claim_ her, but more than he wants all of that, he wants to savor her.

He wants to savor and revel in this moment between them – wants to let it _heal_ both of them so he takes a steadying breath and watches her beneath him. Her face is the picture of desire and her eyes are clouded in lust, but it’s more than that swimming in her blue-green eyes as she looks at him.

It’s _love_ – he can see it – can see the moment she gives it to him, the truth of it, and he knows what a gift it is. Knows he will treasure it for his entire life – this moment, her. He will cloak himself in her love for him, wear it like his favorite Radiohead shirt because he didn’t know until this very moment how much he needs it. How much it comforts him, her love when he has it.

“Alex,” he whispers, and there are tears in his eyes, tears in his voice, and she nods.

Slowly, as though moving too fast would break something between them he pushes into her. He moves slowly until he is buried completely inside of her.

Alex moans, shifting on the bed, moving her legs so they wrap around his waist and her eyes meet his.

“God,” the word comes out on a pleasure-filled moan as he fills her, “No one since you, darling,” she clenches around him and then nods and he knows that she’s ready, that she’s adjusted to him.

Matt pulls out of her slowly and then pushes back in – he repeats the action and the sounds elicited from Alex’s mouth sound like sin. Sound like something he would spend his life confessing if it just meant he could hear it again.

“No one else ever again,” Matt murmurs as he pulls out and slides back in again.

They’re as much for himself as they are for her, his words, because he’d known for years, but his heart so full now as he fills her makes it abundantly clear. There can be no one else. There will never be anyone else.

She is _it_ for him.

He stills inside of her and brings his hand to her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheek bone.

“No one else ever again,” he repeats and it’s a promise. Tears flood her eyes and he leans down and kisses her as she nods.

Matt continues to move his hips, thrusts in and out of her rhythmically, still moving slowly.

He pulls back and drops his hand between their bodies, watching her intently as his fingers find her clit. His fingers move softly and deftly, timed with each of his in-thrusts and Alex’s moans and cries begin to crescendo, climbing higher and higher.

“Yes,” she moans, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her hands move to claw and clutch at the skin of his back and she bucks her hips up to meet his thrusts, “Yes, darling, _please_.”

Matt moves faster, pumping in and out of her as his fingers work faster. Her face reflects her pleasure and Matt bends to kiss her neck, sucking on her pulse point before he lifts his mouth to her ear.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he thrusts and moves his fingers against her clit again, punctuating his words, “Come for me,” Alex keens and Matt knows she’s close, “Come for me, Alex –” She clenches around him and Matt thrusts just a bit harder into her, “Christ, I love you so bloody much, _come for me_.”

Alex does – she flutters and clenches around his cock. Matt keeps thrusting, but his eyes watch her face as she comes, her head lolling to the side as her fingers dig into his back.

And he can’t hold out, despite how much he wants to prolong this moment; seeing her undone as she writhes beneath him sends him right to the edge and over it, “So _fucking_ beautiful,” Matt murmurs as he comes, spilling inside of her with a ragged cry of her name.

After a few more stuttered thrusts, Matt collapses against her and her hands run soothingly up and down his back, tickling along his spine. She murmurs to him softly, her voice cooing and pleasant and it takes him longer than it should to realize that he’s crying.

Soft sobs wrack his body and he rolls to the side, lifting his head to look at her.

Alex’s eyes are wet, too, tears tracking down her cheeks, but she’s not nearly the sobbing mess that he is. He opens his mouth to apologize to her, but two of her fingers fall across his lips, pressing the words back into his mouth.

“Don’t you dare, Matthew,” she removes her fingers from his lips and he kisses them, “Don’t you _dare_ apologize to me for this,” she leans forward and kisses his cheeks, first one and then the other.

Alex brings her mouth to his and she tastes like his tears as he slides his tongue into her mouth. When the salt disappears from her lips, she tastes like Alex again. And like his future, like everything he waited for so long finally open to him.

Matt smiles against her lips and Alex smiles in response. They pull away from each other grinning now, no more tears.

His eyes sweep over her naked form and he shakes his head, “You’re so bloody beautiful, Kingston.”

Alex smiles at him and opens her mouth to reply but her stomach growls instead.

Matt laughs, holding a finger up in her direction, “Don’t move,” he stares at her for a long moment, trying to quell the sudden fear that rises inside of him – fear that she’ll leave.

As if reading his mind, she clears her throat, voice suddenly serious, “I won’t.”

Matt nods and leaves the bedroom, walking quickly, heart so full of love for the woman naked now in his bed. He grabs the pizza from the coffee table along with a pile of napkins and brings them to the bedroom.

When Alex sees it, she laughs, shaking her head, “Pizza in bed?”

He hops on the bed, placing the box between them, “Absolutely,” He nods seriously as he opens the box and hands her a napkin, “I’ve got plans for you – for _us_ – tonight.” He picks up a slice and hands it to her, “You’ll need your strength,” he winks as she takes the pizza from him, “We both will.”

Alex laughs, rolling her eyes a bit, but she bites into the pizza and Matt picks up a slice.

They sit in silence, eating pizza in his bed, sharing the occasional smile or ridiculous laugh. The pizza is cold, but it doesn’t matter – nothing else matters except Alex Kingston in his bed, his sheet wrapped around her naked body as she eats pizza looking positively ravished.

And by him.

He drops his crust back in the box and stares at her.

“What?” She freezes, pizza halfway to her mouth.

Matt shakes his head, smiling, “I want to frame this moment. I want a photograph of this moment, right now, between us,” he smiles, and feels the tears burning his eyes again, “Paradise.”

Alex raises her eyebrows at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “Paradise?”

Matt nods, “This evening, with you, eating pizza.”

Alex stares at him, her eyes suddenly wet again, “You hate Johnny Cash.”

He shrugs, “But you love him.”

She drops her pizza back in the box and closes the lid, “And you, darling,” she whispers, leaning closer to him, “So very much.”

Alex kisses him softly, sweetly, and as his hands skate up her bare back and her mouth travels to his neck, the pizza is all but forgotten until the only thing they taste, know, _feel_ is each other.

The light from the moon – crescent shaped but still oddly bright tonight – pours in through the blinds as they finally fall asleep, Alex’s head on Matt’s chest, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder.

When the sun comes up the next morning, bleeding through the blinds, Alex presses soft kisses to Matt’s chest and whispers promises against his skin while he sleeps, vowing to repeat them when he wakes.

And as the sun continues to rise over the Los Angeles hills, bathing the city in a soft and peaceful glow, Alex Kingston _stays_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe this story is at a close. It's the longest thing I've written to date, and may very well be the longest thing I ever write. Thank you all for reading - I've loved seeing your comments and reactions to this story more than you'll ever know!


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spare Room at the Hollywood Roosevelt is dimly lit and warm, stirring with excited bodies as servers walk around with various plates of appetizers and bartenders mix specialty cocktails at the small bar.
> 
> Alex Kingston stands, looking out the window at the twinkling lights of Hollywood, bright and beckoning as ever, even in the rain.
> 
> Arms crossed over her chest, she examines the city, once again finding it beautiful in ways she never thought she would. Her life these days is beautiful in ways she never thought it would be. Like Hollywood from a distance at night: so breathtaking with its neon sparkle that the seedy underbelly is all but forgotten, almost as though it never existed to begin with.
> 
> “Penny for your thoughts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure this epilogue would happen, but it turns out it did. When I wrote the last line of this story (the last line of the last chapter) months ago, I felt so much - it felt really final and a bit surreal. But, in the end, I also felt a need to say a proper goodbye to the characters I created for this journey (characters which so many of you responded so strongly to - and thank you for that). So, this epilogue was born. 
> 
> And now... now this story is truly done. Thanks for reading, everyone, I hope you enjoyed the story and how it ended!

The rain mists down lightly in a rare Los Angeles spring shower.

The lights in Downtown Hollywood reflect brightly off the wet asphalt, water splashing under tires as cars speed by, unconcerned with the slick roads and falling water. Tourists huddle under cheap umbrellas as they walk to their destinations in the unexpected drizzle.

The Spare Room at the Hollywood Roosevelt is dimly lit and warm, stirring with excited bodies as servers walk around with various plates of appetizers and bartenders mix specialty cocktails at the small bar.

Alex Kingston stands, looking out the window at the twinkling lights of Hollywood, bright and beckoning as ever, even in the rain.

Arms crossed over her chest, she examines the city, once again finding it beautiful in ways she never thought she would. Her _life_ these days is beautiful in ways she never thought it would be. Like Hollywood from a distance at night: so breathtaking with its neon sparkle that the seedy underbelly is all but forgotten, almost as though it never existed to begin with.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

A slow smile spreads across Alex’s face, but she doesn’t take her eyes from the view.

“It’s a two for one special tonight, I’m afraid.”

Jack steps next to her, his presence strong and warm against the side of her body. She cuts him a look out of the corner of her eye and watches as he looks out over the city, taking in the view for himself.

“Gorgeous,” Jack says, turning to her with a smile, “The view and you.”

Alex smiles warmly at him, “Thank you.”

Jack puts his hands in his pockets, regarding her with obvious affection in his eyes, “Happiness looks good on you, Alex.”

He says it plainly – without guile or ulterior motive – so Alex takes it for what it is: a compliment from a friend.

“Thank you,” she smiles at him, “It’s lovely to see you.” And it is. Over the third and final season of the show, Jack had only been in a few scenes, none of them with her.

She’d missed him, if she’s honest – missed their easy friendship, but she knew that what they needed from each other was a clean break. Knew letting go was the best option – the only option. Anything else wasn’t fair to either of them.

“Are you here with a date?” Alex’s eyes scan the crowd behind him, looking for someone that might be here with Jack.

Jack stares at her for a long moment, “I… uh… no,” he smiles at her and the weight of what she sees in his eyes hits her full force. He’s still healing. “You’re not an easy woman to get over, Alex,” she opens her mouth to speak, but he holds his hand up with a gentle shake of his head. She doesn’t know what she would say, anyway, “Tonight will help,” he explains.

At her curious look, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss against her cheek, hesitating for only a moment before he pulls away, his eyes carrying an odd mixture of anguish and relief.

“Hon,” Maggie’s voice cuts through, “We’re starting a new game. You’re up.” Maggie eyes Jack with a grin, “Hey, handsome,” she winks and Jack laughs, shaking his head, “Save me a dance later?”

Jack chuckles, looking around the room, “No one’s dancing, Mags.”

“Well, now,” she reaches out and grabs Alex by the wrist, tugging gently, “That’s not what I asked now, is it?” With another wink, she drags Alex away.

Jack watches her go, his eyes following her as Maggie pulls her through the crowd. He looks wistful, and Alex can’t help but think of the day on the pier when she watched Jack walk along those old wooden planks and away from her because she loved someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

“Alright, darlin’!” Maggie smiles, stopping Alex in an alcove of the room where two bowling lanes stretch down the room, pins set up and ready, “We need to get you a bowlin’ name.” Maggie gestures to a chalkboard on the wall, two team names scrawled at the top and various bowlers listed underneath.

Alex’s eyes trail down the board, “Who’s Gaffy Duck?”

“That’d be me,” Lucy says, stepping into the area, speaking around her straw. She sips a pink drink, no doubt fruity in flavor, a stark contrast to her usual beer, “I’ll never forgive Kate for introducing me to these.”

“Oh, we’ll see what tune you’re singling later, sweetheart,” Kate leans forward and drops a kiss on Lucy’s cheek, “I’m _Katemare_ , by the way.”

“Figured as much,” Alex says, laughing as she draws her friend into a hug, “Apt.”

Kate shakes her head and swats Alex’s arm as Lucy laughs. True to her word, Alex had set Kate up with Lucy about four months ago, and they’d hit it off despite initial reluctance to date anyone at all on Lucy’s part. A gaffer on the show, Lucy has a sharp wit, pixie-cut black hair and dark blue eyes. She is the perfect counterpoint to Kate. Carefree and fun where Kate is grounded; they just _work_ as a couple and Alex is pleased to see her friend so happy after her divorce from her husband.

“Now what does that handsome man of yours call you?” Maggie raises her eyebrows at Alex.

Kate scrunches her nose, “I think we should keep the nickname G-rated, Mags. Or at least PG.”

“You,” Maggie points her finger at Kate, “Shut it.” She turns to Alex, “Any ideas?” At Alex’s blank look, Maggie shrugs, “Knockers McGee it is.”

Alex gasps, but rolls her eyes, smiling as Maggie has the young man running the scoreboard write Alex’s nickname in white chalk. He’s a tall, thin young man just out of his teens and a deep blush settles across his face as he does his level best not to stare at Alex’s chest, but he writes her name on the board anyway.

“But, what I _really_ want to know,” Maggie says, leaning into Alex, “is how in the _hell_ you’re going to bowl with _that_ thing on your finger!”

Alex quirks an eyebrow, “You _know_ I’m right handed, Maggie.”

“Do I?” She blinks, “Let me see that rock anyway.”

Alex rolls her eyes, but presents her left hand to Maggie.

Maggie grins, twisting Alex’s hand this way and that so that the ring glistens in the dim light. It’s a modest ring, exactly to Alex’s taste in diamonds. While she errs on the garish side for costume jewelry, she’s always preferred more modest pieces when it comes to engagement rings. And lord knows she’s had a few of those. But, in truth, none have ever felt so _right_ sitting on her finger as the one that’s there now. The others felt heavy with expectation, as though they could tell the future of sorrows to come. But, when she puts _this_ ring on each morning, she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face.

Maggie’s thumb reaches out and traces along the emerald-cut diamond, “Gorgeous.”

“Say it isn’t so!”

Maggie and Alex turn around to see Sabrina clutching her chest, her white button-down shirt crinkling under her palm as she grips it.

“I’d heard rumors, but here I was hoping they weren’t true!”

Alex laughs and steps toward Sabrina, wrapping her in a warm hug, “They’re very true, I’m afraid.”

Sabrina lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh as she pulls away, “Off the market for good, huh?” She winks, “Well, if you and Matt ever make your own list…” She grins wickedly, “Keep me in mind.”

Alex tips her head back and laughs – a full-bodied sound that Sabrina always seems to bring out of her. They’d grown closer over filming the third season, and though they haven’t seen each other since Matt’s proposal, it’s like no time has passed between them at all. Alex shakes her head, “You’ll be at the top.”

A throat clearing behind Sabrina has Alex turning to stare at a short, curvy woman with auburn hair, freckles smattering her face, and wide brown eyes.

“Alex,” Sabrina winks, “This is my girlfriend Chloe.”

Chloe tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and holds her hand out; Alex takes her hand and pulls her into an embrace, “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she pulls back to look at Chloe, “Sab talks about you all the time.”

Chloe laughs, “Not as much as she talks about you, I’d damn well guarantee it,” When Sabrina cuts her a look, Chloe just shrugs, “Sorry, babe. You know I’d be jealous, but I can’t really blame you,” her eyes cut to the chalkboard and she smirks as she looks back at Alex; Chloe’s eyes travel down Alex’s body and then back again, her eyes sparkling with mischief when she meets Alex’s gaze again, “what with a nickname like Knockers McGee and all.”

“It’s a bowlin’ name, darlin’, and there is a difference.” Maggie says, shaking her head and picking up a ball.

Sabrina just laughs, opening her arms and wrapping one arm around Chloe and one arm around Alex, leading them towards a bench set up to the side of the bowling lanes, “Now, which one of you lovely ladies wants me on your team?” Sabrina waggles her eyebrows as they sit on the bench – Alex picks up a flute of champagne from a passing server, taking a swallow that she very nearly chokes on the next moment when Sabrina speaks again, “You know, I’m surprisingly good with balls.”

x

Matt shakes the water off his raincoat and runs a hand through his damp hair. It doesn’t rain in LA the way it does in Britain, but water is still wet, no matter how you slice it. He’d forgotten to bring an umbrella despite Alex’s text warning that today called for showers.

The showers hardly ever actually manifested even when they spent a week being forecast on his weather app, so he’d learned to take those warnings with a grain of salt.

Peeling off his raincoat, he places it on a coatrack near the door before stepping fully into the room; he moves quietly, so as not to draw too much attention to himself. He sidles up to the bar and grabs a beer – still American, still crap – and then turns to face the crowd.

A few people acknowledge him, coming up and shaking his hand, but his arrival doesn’t cause a stirring – these are his friends now, after three seasons of filming and they are happy to see him, sure, but there is also a party with free booze going on. So he certainly doesn’t begrudge them the lack of fanfare for his arrival.

His eyes scan the room, homing in nearly immediately on the one woman that causes his heart to dance a ridiculous jig in his chest every single time he catches sight of her. He used to wonder when that would stop, when his heart would stop lurching excitedly at the mere sight of her – but it hasn’t stopped, and he knows now that it never will. She will always thrill him, whether she’s doing something incredibly sexy like wearing trashy lingerie just for him or doing something as mundane as shaving her legs. She arouses him, always, in every single part of him: mind, soul, _body_ , no matter what she’s doing.

And, god, he wants all of her – every single part of her; had done for so long, only now he gets to have it. Gets to have _her_. And she gets to have him, whether she wants him or not, and there’s not a single day that passes where he doesn’t find himself incredibly grateful that, as it turns out, she _does_.

A smile spreads across his face as he watches her laugh and chat with her friends. The dim light illuminates her curls as she picks up a bowling ball, turning it to slide her fingers inside. And _god_ there really should be nothing erotic about that sight, but with her there absolutely is. She is still the most erotic woman he’s ever met, and the mere sight of her cradling a bowling ball has him shifting in his seat, his jeans growing slightly uncomfortable as he stares.

Shaking his head, he chuckles as she pulls the ball back and does a little hop-leap up to the line of the lane and releases the ball. It slowly, _slowly_ rolls down the lane and by the time it gets to the pins, it’s at a near-crawl. The pins fall clumsily one after the other, knocking into each other in a lazy domino effect, until six of them happen to be flat on their side.

Alex cheers, throwing her arms up in the air as Victoria and Kristin surround her, giving her high fives before one of them steps up to the line, ball at the ready. And Matt’s sudden interest in bowling quickly fades. As he expected, no one can make bowling exciting – or _sexy_ – except for Alex Kingston.

With a final swig of the terrible beer, Matt sets the bottle down on the bar and pushes off, intent on wrapping his arms tightly around the woman he loves and whispering any sort of dirty bowling terminology he can possibly think of into her ear.

It’s become somewhat of a game with them – turning innocuous, everyday things into sexual innuendo, constantly trying to one-up each other until one of them is so hot and bothered that they drag the other into the nearest semi-secluded place and they fuck: hard, fast, dirty.

He spotted at least four good places he can sneak her into the moment he walked into the room – thank goodness for dim lighting – and hell, he may be up for trying out more than one of them out tonight.

He’s halfway to the bowling alcove, his gaze still fixed on Alex, when a shoulder interrupts his movement.

“Oh, shit, sorry about that,” he shakes his head, “Wasn’t exactly looking where I was going,” Matt says, running a hand through his hair and finally tearing his eyes away from Alex and glancing up at the person he’d shoulder-checked.

Blue eyes stare at him with amusement before following the path Matt’s eyes had just taken and landing on Alex, “Ah, no. I imagine you wouldn’t be.”

“Jack,” Matt nods in greeting.

“Matt,” Jack looks at Matt for a moment before holding out his hand, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Matt eyes his hand, but only for a moment before he reaches out and shakes it. It’s a friendly shake, holding not even an echo of challenge, and the realization makes Matt significantly less tense.

“Yeah,” Matt smiles, his gaze darting to Alex again, “Thanks.”

Jack smiles, placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder and squeezing lightly, “I’d like to say the better man won, but I’m not quite that magnanimous. So, I’ll just say… you’re a good man, Matt,” his eyes drift to Alex once more before settling back on Matt, “And a bloody lucky one at that.”

“That’s the truth,” Matt smiles, “I’ll not be forgetting that any time soon, either, so…”

Jack chuckles and holds up his hands in a warding gesture, “Hey, I’m moving on,” he shrugs, “Trying to, anyway. Take care, Matt.” Jack says, shaking his hand one more time.

“You too, Jack.” Matt watches as Jack disappears into the crowd; Matt shakes his head lightly. From the very first day he’d met him, Matt had wanted to hate Jack for caring as much as he did – _does_ – about Alex. But, in truth, he was never quite able to get to hate as a default. Matt was never quite able to get past the feeling of kinship with the damn man because they both just wanted Alex _and_ what was best for her – both of them believing that he was it. And wanting Alex felt like the most natural thing in the world for Matt, so it was hard to begrudge someone else for feeling it, too.

But, prize or not, Matt _had_ won – and when he dropped down on one knee nearly two months ago, he’d known it. Known without a doubt that he was the luckiest bastard in the world when that beautiful _yes_ fell from her lips. He’d promised himself that he’d spend his life making Alex happy, being what she needs, what she _deserves_.

With a grin and a satisfaction deep in his heart and in his bones, Matt makes his way to the bowling alcove. He stands, watching, as Alex throws the ball – he can’t see her face, but he can imagine her lip drawn into her mouth as she watches the pins fall agonizingly slowly.

He doesn’t wait until the last one falls before he strides up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She gasps a little, but as his arms tickle under the hem of her sweater, she eases into him, her head falling back against his shoulder as his mouth moves down to nuzzle her neck.

His tongue darts out before he sucks lightly on her skin, trailing a small path of kisses up to her ear where he whispers inside of it, “Been awhile since we’ve done it in an alley, Kingston, but I’m up for it if you are.” He thrusts his hips lightly against her, careful not to draw too much attention to the action – to them. They both enjoy a little exhibitionism every now and again, but now really _isn’t_ the time.

Alex laughs, the sound shooting straight through his body the same way it always does; same way it always will, “Go ahead, darling, try to make _turkey_ sexy.”

x

Alex spins in his arms and kisses Matt lightly on the lips, chuckling when he chases her lips as she pulls away. He can’t get enough of her, has made that clear a thousand times over, and it never fails to make her heart stutter in her chest when he looks at her with such unabashed longing.

“I’m not the one with the uncanny ability to make any bloody thing sexy, love, that’s you.”

Alex grins at him, hooking her finger into the collar of his shirt and dragging his face closer to hers, “You do alright.”

“ _Just_ alright?” He whispers the words against her lips, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips.

“You want more than that, darling?” She traces her fingernail lightly around the edge of his collar, “You’ll have to make your case.”

Matt leans in and his tongue darts out and runs across her lower lip, “Oh,” he kisses her lightly before pulling away, “I intend to, Kingston. I intend to.”

Alex is leaning her head in to taste his mouth again when movement to the left catches her eye – she turns, stepping slightly away from Matt and scarcely contains her groan as she sees Deni, standing to the side of one of the lanes, an unfamiliar jovial-looking man standing directly next to her.

She’s wearing a dress, and her hair is teased to utter perfection, but there’s something about her that seems different – softer, somehow, more vulnerable, and the thought unnerves Alex. She’s had months to come to terms with what Deni did and in that time, she’d found herself cycling through all the stages of grief over what had happened. She walked into her anger at Deni, but she’d tried hard not to live there.

Seeing her now, however, brings it up all over again – has her clenching her fist at her side as her stomach fills with dread. She’s been _happy_ for months – she certainly doesn’t need any drama that Deni Christmas might dole out. Alex braces herself – braces herself for the sneer, for the venomous tone, for the cattiness – but it does not come.

Instead, with a tentative look to the man standing next to her, Deni steps forward, walking slowly until she stands in front of Alex and Matt. Matt takes a slight step forward, shielding Alex from Deni, and while the gesture is appreciated, Alex lays a gentle hand on his forearm letting him know that it’s not necessary.

“Can I talk to you?” Deni asks, her voice quiet. She looks between Matt and Alex, “Both of you?”

Matt starts to say no – Alex can feel it in the way his body tenses under her hand, but she grips his arm a little tighter and when he looks at her, she nods.

“Sure,” Alex moves deeper into the alcove, though all the bowlers seem to know to give them space. When they’re sufficiently far enough away from the crowd, Alex and Matt stop and Deni stands, wringing her hands in front of her abdomen.

She looks so much different than the last time Alex saw her – she looks younger, now, somehow, and the vulnerability in her eyes is certainly new.

Deni clears her throat, casting one small glance over her shoulder to the man who was next to her earlier. At his encouraging nod and smile, she turns back to face Matt and Alex.

“I… wanted to apologize. For what I did,” she hurriedly tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, “to both of you.” She takes a deep breath, eyes finally meeting Alex’s, “I’m sorry. I… there is no excuse for what I did, the things I said and I’m going to try to make it right.” She shakes her head, “It’s not enough, and I know that – I’m sorry for that, too, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Alex stares at Deni in stunned silence, and one short glance at Matt tells her that he is feeling dumbfounded by this confrontation that isn’t, actually, a confrontation too. They’d discussed it, of course, the possibility of running into Deni at this cast party. They talked about what they’d say, what they wouldn’t – but _this_ scenario never crossed either of their minds. It never even entered into the realm of possible things that could happen.

So, standing in front of a genuinely contrite and apologetic Deni, has both Matt and Alex speechless.

“Do you think you – that you might be able to – forgive me?”

Matt turns to look at Alex, his eyebrows climbing his forehead, his expression giving nothing away. He’s not steering her in any direction, not weighing in on this. He’s letting her know that this decision is hers and hers alone.

Alex stares at Deni, and as much as she wants to see the same person she saw so many months ago, the calculating, vindictive young woman she was back then, that’s simply not what she sees standing before her now. And Alex, more than almost anyone, knows how a person can change – how a heart can change.

And maybe everything is an act – maybe Deni is working every acting lesson she’s had since she arrived in this town, but holding a grudge gets heavy – and there are grudges so big they can take up your entire life, if you let them. Alex knows that more than most, too.

It’s too much of a burden to bear and Alex doesn’t want that in her life, not any more. She’s given enough years to grief and being angry with people who’ve done her wrong.

So, Alex smiles, giving Deni a slight nod of her head, “Yes,” she says, and she watches as the relief spreads over Deni’s face before she turns to the man standing behind her and gives him a small thumbs up and a smile.

“That’s Rodney,” Deni explains, “My… _life coach_. It sounds ridiculous, I know, and some days it _is_ , but…” she shrugs her shoulders, “It’s helping.”

Alex laughs then, a genuine laugh as she shakes her head, “I sleep with crystals under my pillow sometimes. You don’t have to explain _anything_ to me.”

Deni nods, a small smile playing on her face as she turns to look at Matt, “And… us? You? Are we… okay?”

Matt considers her for a moment, and Alex watches as the emotions cycle across his face. There are times she’s amazed at her ability to read him, and this is one of them – she sees so many emotions flicker before he settles on one, nodding.

“This was always about Alex,” Matt says, his tone cordial and formal – not lacking warmth, but not exuding it either, “If she’s good, then so am I.”

Deni lets out a long breath and gives one final nod, “Okay,” she flicks her gaze between Alex and Matt, “And… thanks,” she spins on her heel and heads back over to Rodney, who’s smiling at her and no doubt whispering words of affirmation.

“Gonna be a long night for her,” Matt quips, as they watch her make her way through the crowd. Alex raises her eyebrow at him, “She’s got a _lot_ of people to apologize to.” Matt turns to look at her, his eyes filling with emotion, “Proud of you,” he says as he grabs her hand, twines his fingers with hers, and leans in close to her face.

Alex smiles, “Forgiveness is just _so much lighter_ ,” she whispers, leaning up and brushing her lips against his, her tongue running along the seam of his mouth until he parts his lips. He tastes like _hers_ , and the room begins to fade as she feels the familiar feeling build in her chest and she embraces it immediately. There is no more trying to hide or deny it, her love for this man.

The sound of silverware hitting a champagne flute pulls them out of the moment and they smile a little at each other before turning to find the sound. Daniel, perched atop a chair, holds a champagne flute in his right hand and a butter knife in his left.

He stands, waiting, like a man with infinite patience as the voices around the room dip from a roar to a low murmur and finally, to near silence.

“Thank you all for coming,” Daniel says, eyes flitting around the room, “Though I _am_ disappointed to see that no one took my Space Cowboy theme seriously,” he glares at a few people around the room even as he taps his silver cowboy boots against each other, and titters of laughter bounce through the room, “I just want to take a moment to say – beyond this cast party – thank you for a wonderful series. The end product was beyond my expectations, and the expectations of the network as a whole. That success is due, of course, to the amazing talent that each and every one of you in this room wears so well. So, _thank you_ ,” he smiles, bowing three times to different parts of the room as people applaud. When the applause dies down, Daniel grins, “And it is with great pleasure that I announce tonight, officially, a _spinoff_ – and, look, I’m not saying it like a dirty word because I’m actually _very_ excited about this project – which will begin shooting in the fall with the lovely Alex Kingston and the…” he holds his hand up and moves it from side to side, “semi-lovely Matt Smith.”

Gasps echo around the room – it had been rumored, but not confirmed – and as all eyes settle on them and everyone murmurs congratulatory words, Alex buries her head in the crook of Matt’s neck. His arm wraps around her and he laughs at her sudden shyness – so very unlike her – and rubs her back soothingly.

“Thank you,” Matt holds up a hand, nodding, “We’re very excited,” he cuts a glance at Daniel, “And _nervous_ , understandably.”

Daniel laughs, nodding his head in agreement before he continues his speech. When he’s done, he hops off the chair with a flourish, and makes his way around the room.

Matt and Alex stand against the wall as people come up to congratulate them, one by one, and when they’ve all said their piece and exhausted their many well-wishes, Matt tucks Alex firmly against his side.

He lowers his voice to the tone Alex loves so much, deep and gravelly, “I can’t wait to _pin_ you later tonight.”

Alex turns to look at him, and Matt grins, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and Alex laughs, shaking her head as she rolls her eyes, “Did it take you that long to come up with _that_?” She shakes her head, “You’re lucky I quite enjoy being _pinned_ by you, darling.”

She grabs his hand and leads him back to where the group of bowlers stands. She’s missed several of her turns, but it doesn’t matter – nothing matters except the man who winks at her, drops her hand, and then picks up a ball despite his name being nowhere on the board. He crouches down low with his legs spread as he holds the bowling ball with both hands. He swings the ball back between his legs and rolls it down the lane, just as a small child might. He looks bloody ridiculous, but as Matt celebrates the two pins he actually manages to knock down with his silly maneuver, Alex can’t help but grab him by the nape of his neck and kiss him because he is _her_ ridiculous.

He winds his arms around her waist and kisses her back until Maggie grumbles something about _this place also being a hotel and therefore a room isn’t that damn hard to find_. He releases her with a chuckle, the twinkle in his eye speaking of wild things to come the minute they do, actually, find a room.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter with friends and champagne and warmth that floods Alex’s heart. As the party begins to wind down, Alex and Matt slip into the resident photo booth and make out, Alex straddling Matt’s lap as the flashes _click, click, click_ until someone pulls the door of the photo booth open, laughing as Matt and Alex set their clothing to rights and step out of the photo booth Matt blushing, both of them unashamed.

They say their quick goodbyes and stumble out of the hotel, six sheets of photos in hand, as Alex fires up her Uber app and calls them a car to take them _home_.

Matt wraps his arms around her shoulders as they wait, his body warmth seeping into hers until she can’t even remember what being cold feels like, and she knows – she _knows –_ that this man would give up every ounce of body heat he has to keep her warm and she doesn’t think she’s _ever_ been loved like that before: so fiercely, so selflessly.

She kisses his chest through his shirt, right above his heart, and whispers the words she thinks every single day when she looks at him: “Thank you.”

Matt’s grip around her tightens as the slick streets shine around them, the Los Angeles rain only a memory now, and Alex glances up at the moon where it sits above the city. It should look dimmer for the neon surrounding them, but it doesn’t. It looks big, and bright, and constant, and like everything she ever wanted and needed coalescing at once, and Alex knows – she _knows_ – if ever there _were_ a man in the moon… tonight, he’d be winking as that tide rolls in.


End file.
